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A Woman of War 


OTHER STORIES 


BY 

FELIX AGNUS 


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A WOMAN OF WAR, 


AND 


OTHER STORIES. 




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B A L T 1 M O RE: 

The American Job Printing Office, 


TZ3 
, A 


Copyright, 1895, by Felix Agnus. 
All Rights Reserved. 


PREFACE. 


•The popular features of a great war are its inci- 
dents. ' 

Plans of battle, details of movements and statistics 
of killed and. wounded, attract the few ; stories of 
valor and of daring reach the universal heart. 

No war of the world’s history surpasses the 
wonderful interest of our civil conflict. The bravery 
and devotion on both sides of the line; the marvel- 
ous development of military skill; the tremendous 
energy of the people in utilizing every possible 
resource, and the high courage and manhood that 
incited and actuated officer and private, made the 
Wt pre-eminent in heroism as it was decisive in 
uniting and perpetual he Union. 

Thei ^ri do not attempt to deal with the 
greater aspects of this war. They are mere 
sketches built upon true incidents. Most of the 
characters are real. 

At the suggestion of personal friends the stories 
have been put in permanent form. No special merit 
is claimed for them, but the author indulges in the 
hope that they will, at least, be found interesting. 


NacirEMA, September z, 


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INDEX. 


NOEL OF 1864. 

A WOMAN OF WAR. 

I. A Sudden Attack. 

II. The Two Captives. 

III. The Forlorn Hope. 

IV. Discovering a Spy. 

V. Condemned to be Shot. 

THE GUNNER OF “LADY DAVIS.” 

I. A Surprise. 

II. The Demon Gun. 

III. Amelia, The Bride. 

A SACRED TRUST. 

I. A Corpse and a Symbol. 

II. An Important Capture. 

III. A Woman, and a Wife. 

IV. Only One Returns. 

V. Romance and Tragedy. 

VI. Nixon. 

VII. Surprisers Surprised. 

VIII. We Return to Alligator Station. 

IX. A Parting and a Promise. 

X. The End. 



NOEL OF 1864. 


On the cold and crispy Christmas of 1864 
army of the Shenandoah was resting peacefully in 
its winter quarters around Winchester and Steven- 
son’s Station. 

Snow had fallen for many days. 

The whole valley was a field of whiteness. Roads 
were badly blocked and the pathways through the 
Blue Ridge and the surrounding mountains were 
almost impassable. Down the valley, beyond the 
picturesque Massanutton group, the Confederates, 
under Early, had retired -to secure quarters at 
Staunton. 

It looked like a season of quiet camp life and 
peace. 

Yet the celerity and watchfulness which Early had 
displayed at Cedar Creek, had taught Sheridan that 
unvarying vigilance must be his only protection 
against surprise and danger. 

Consequently, cavalry was used liberally in small 
detachments to scour the country from mountain to 


8 


mountain. It was lively work, and it was hard 
work ; but the reports brought in by the reconnoi- 
tering parties added to our satisfaction of mind, and 
promised us a Christmas full of peace and plenty. 
The indications were all against a winter campaign. 

Our established quarters were so well known to 
our friends, and were so fortunate in having [railroad 
connection with the North, that when the Christ- 
mastide drew near, loads of boxes, full of dainties 
from home, came as blessings to nearly all. Any 
comrade who failed to receive one of these substan- 
tial messages, was made to share in the general 
profusion of good things. Fellowship is the religion 
of army life, and on such an occasion there was no 
stint in the men’s generosity. 

So, all in all, we were in for a merry Christmas. 

But there was Mosby ! As you know, he and his 
cavalry were the big bugaboo of the Union forces 
in the Valley. He had not strength enough to do 
us serious injury, but he had the style of men that 
kept a constant warfare on our wagon trains, and it 
looked at one time as if his position on the war 
issues had completely changed. 

Instead of secession, Mosby had all at once become 
a Russian general, and wanted nothing but Turkey. 


9 


Now Mosby as a man, was no means a favorite with 
us; as a guerrilla, he had our distinct disapproval ; but 
when he appeared all at once in the light of a turkey 
gobbler, it naturally led us to look on him as hardly 
human — since the turkeys were ours. 

Oh, how we did bless him on that occasion ! Why 
couldn't he let us alone and leave us to the enjoyment 
of those good things from home? That was the 
question we asked between regrets, for he kept another 
brigade tramping through the snow. And those who 
spent that cold Christmas in the saddle will never 
forget their experience, nor forgive Mosby for his dis- 
regard of their comfort. 

Mosby ’s style of fighting was that of the Indian. 
He seldom attacked in large numbers : he merely 
pestered our ranks, and when we pushed him closely^ 
his men would scatter to the four winds, in numbers 
of three to ten, and make successful pursuit almost an 
impossibility ; for in order to follow and punish these 
small detachments, the Union troops were obliged to 
use the same policy and send squads, under both 
commissioned and non-commissioned officers, to cover 
the country for miles and miles. 

Everything had been very quiet in our front, and 
Sheridan was satisfied that Early would not bother 


lO 


him. Nevertheless, Mosby’s great activity kept 
suspicion alive, and on Christmas Eve our general 
determined to renew his vigilance. 

He ordered another brigade on scouting duty with 
directions to pay special attention to the mountain 
gaps, and the compliments of the season to any chance 
part of the enemy that came within speaking distance 
of our guns. 

Rations for three days and forty rounds of ammu- 
nition to each man, was the Christmas morning order. 
The boxes from home were despoiled of their bounty. 
Turkey, chicken, pheasant (cooked and uncooked), 
dainties prepared by loving hands, and substantials 
without limit, were the happy lot of the warrior bold ; 
and in less than half an hour the knapsacks were 
packed, not with old salt army beef, but with appetiz- 
ing luxuries sent from good kitchens and loving 
friends. 

And while we knew not where we would eat our 
noon-day meal, we blessed with all our souls the name 
of Him who came to save the world. 

After deciding upon a good reserve, the brigade was 
sub-divided into regiments, and those into squadrons 
and platoons, so each detachment, under a reliable 
ofl&cer, felt itself thoroughly independent. 


II 


A squad of Troop C, from one of Devan’s regiments, 
under Captain Gallaspie, was ordered to follow the 
road that led through the gap over the mountains, 
and from the high cliffs to take a good look over the 
Luray valley, on the other side, and see if they could 
discover anything that showed the presence of the 
enemy. In such a season the camp-fire was the tell- 
tale indication of a body of soldiers. 

A strong party it was, and full of vigor and 
cheerfulness. Several small towns fell in its way, and 
then every house and hamlet was searched for able- 
bodied men, who when found, were arrested. Non- 
combatants, however, were treated with unvarying 
kindness. 

Perhaps no valley in the world contains more 
natural beauty than this superb stretch of country. 
The magnificent outlook over the level fields, and the 
grandeur of the rugged scenes around the bordering 
mountains, filled one with admiration, in spite of cold 
winds and the universal snow. 

Some fifteen miles away, the indentation of the 
mountain indicated to the troopers the road to the 
gap. Giving the horses rein, they were soon plough- 
ing through the heavy drifts of snow, which at times 
were so deep that they threatened to engulf rider as 


12 


well as horse. It was hard work and slow progress, 
and cold chills played hide-and-seek in the most exas- 
perating way up and down their backbones. This, 
too, was merely a preliminary struggle. 

Dashes into places where Mosby’s men were ex- 
pected to be found, were well done ; but whenever a 
nest was reached, the bird was not there — he had 
flown to some other hiding ground. 

The command did not tarry long, as the day was 
short, and the main object being to cross the gap and 
take a peep into the Turay valley. 

It was not very long before Gallespie and his 
troopers found themselves at the foot of the hill. He 
made a careful survey before venturiug into the gap, 
and seeing no footpath on the snow, he felt it safe to 
advance without reconnoitering. In a short time he 
saw that the drifts were too dangerous and the snow 
was too solidly frozen, to permit the progress of the 
horses. 

A new plan was adopted. One-half of the command 
was to cross on foot, and the other half remain with 
the horses. 

It was a tough climb. The wind was piercing, the 
snow was deep, and each step was harder than the 
other. 


13 


But perseverance had its reward. In less than an 
hour the men were looking over the valley on the 
other side. Like the country they had just left, it 
was buried beneath a heavy fall of snow, and as far as 
the eye could reach, the desolation seemed unbroken. 

Beautiful it was, but as somber-looking as the 
wdnding sheet of a corpse. 

For full fifteen minutes Gallespie stood scanning the 
horizon, but could see nothing that indicated the 
presence of troops. He and his men were just about 
to turn back and return to their horses, when one of 
the command called out : 

“What’s that?” 

They looked as he pointed, and, sure enough, they 
saw what appeared to be the gable end of a barn, a 
little to the left and under the cliff of the road. 

They moved further to the right, to get a better 
view. Then within a stone’s throw, standing in a 
level field below the road, which had been built up 
from the land, they saw an old Virginia barn, which, 
in spite of its age and the snow that tried to cover it, 
showed signs of having been well built. Not far from 
it the irregularity of the drifts indicated the ruins of an 
old homestead. 


14 


It looked as if the barn was deserted. Certainly its 
surroundings were as cheerless and as lifeless as any 
imagination could picture. 

Captain Gallespie decided to investigate. In addi- 
tion to satisfying his curiosity, he might find forage for 
the horses. He and his men ventured slowly down 
the road and through the field. No footsteps could be 
seen ; not a sign of life was visible, not a sound broke 
the dreariness of the place. 

But soldiers are naturally suspicious. The bravest 
are the most cautious. Their experience makes them 
so. 

Gallespie was no exception to this rule. He was 
always willing to risk his life if there was need or 
recompense for the courage, but he was not the officer 
to lead his men into a trap. 

As they approached, suddenly they saw a sign of 
warning — a silent witness of human presence in this 
wilderness of snow. It was a bit of smoke curling 
from a side opening of the barn. 

Gallespie anticipated danger, and lost no time in 
preparing for it. Word was sent back for all men who 
could be spared from the horses to come up afoot. 
The path made by the first party enabled them to 
arrive in a short time. 


15 


Then Gallespie led his men toward the barn. They 
felt that trouble was ahead, and each man was alert 
and ready. Scarcely a dozen steps had they advanced 
when the barn door slowly opened. 

With every face set in grim determination, all the 
men came to a halt to await developments. Their 
carbines were ready for any emergency. 

They expected a few compliments from Mosby. 
They certainly did not look for what they saw. 

As the door opened, the dangerous and wily enemy 
they had tracked to this lonely lair, confronted them. 
With an injured sense of wasted valor, the men stared 
in silent and disgusted astonishment as their excited 
visions of Mosby and his desperate band of fighters 
resolved themselves into one plump figure — and, ye 
gods ! it wore petticoats ! 

An arduous, toilsome march, a thrilling discovery, 
a reinforcement of troops, a skillful advance, a rally 
of courage, a breathless suspense — and all to surprise 
one good old harmless colored woman ! 

She threw up both hands when she saw them as if a 
ghost had confronted her. The amazement was 
strictly mutual. 

And what a strange incident was to be revealed ! 


i6 

Gallespie advanced to question her^ but she had no 
time to answer him. 

“ Be you a doctor? ” she asked anxiously. 

“A doctor ? ” 

“ Yes, massa. My missus am in dar, ’en a child am 
just been borned ! Oh ! please, massa, ain’t you a 
doctor? ” 

Her pathetic appeal would have quickened harder 
hearts than those before her, and it did not take many 
seconds to summon the surgeon of the command. 
In a short time he was at the sick lady’s bedside. 

This unexpected termination of the expedition 
powerfully affected the men. It seemed almost as if 
they had been sent by the sweet pity of the Divine 
Babe of Bethlehem on fhis snowy Christmas day, to 
save this little waif, that in the midst of cold and 
desolation, encircled by armies, yet totally forsaken, 
exposed from its first feeble breath to the vicissitudes 
of war, had commenced its weak struggle in the great 
battle of life. Fearful auspices had presided over its 
birth — from its very start, on how slight a chance had 
depended its preservation ! 

And what tender memories it awakened — what 
chords it touched in almost every heart ! Soft little 
arms hundreds of miles away*, clung almost palpably 


17 


around many a neck, and rough bearded lips were 
pressed in imagination on baby mouths untouched by 
caresses since the stern necessity of war bade men and 
soldiers forget that they were also husbands and 
fathers. Mosby and all his men could never have 
produced on gallant Troop C one half of the weakening 
effect of the unconscious and helpless baby they had 
so unknowingly marched straight to rescue on that 
eventful Christmas morning. 


Of course there was a romance connected with the 
episode, and, of course, the men soon knew it, a 
romance whose pathetic tragedy was consecrated and 
brightened by the light of a true woman’s love. 

The lady was the noble wife of the colonel of a 
Louisiana regiment. He had been engaged in the 
savage fight at Cedar Creek, on the i8th of October, 
and in the midst of the battle, while supporting 
Kershaw’s division he received a dangerous wound. 

News of the sad occurrence reached the devoted 
wife in her Southern home, two thousand miles away, 
and, although she was unfit to travel, she heroically 
traversed the distance, in order to aid and comfort the 
man whom she had sworn to love, and whom she did 


i8 

love with all the fervency of her soul, proving the 
devotion she had pledged to him at the conscious risk 
of her life. 

Some of his comrades had carried him away from 
the field of battle, in hopes that he might be able to 
reach his sunny South; but the wounds were more 
serious than they first supposed, and the continued 
loss of blood had told heavily upon him. The effort 
to get him over the mountains through this gap 
was unsuccessful. He was growing steadily weaker, 
and as they passed the barn, it was decided to allow 
him to rest there for a few hours. 

But he never became strong enough to be removed. 
Life seemed to hang by a mere thread, and every day 
promised to be his last. 

His wife and sister with the faithful old servant had 
arrived in time to care for him in his last hours, and 
they did it with that beautiful tenderness which makes 
women the ministering angels of the world ; but he 
was past their ministrations. 

A week before the arrival of Gallespie’s party, the 
Colonel died, blessing the love that had dared death 
to make it easier to him. The two Confederates who 
had remained with him, dug the grave wherein his 
remains were sorrowfully laid to rest. 


19 


After the burial, the excitement of the war compelled 
the two soldiers to join the command. The ladies and 
the old servant were left alone. 

Then, at the time of their bitterest sorrow and direst 
need, the snow came down, and cut them off from all 
communication with the world. 


To leave the ladies in that desolate place was out of 
the question ; so we soon had a stretcher for the sick 
mother, and accommodation for the sister and servant. 
Our little caravan moved slowly, and every man in the 
command vied with every other man in his attentions 
to our precious burdens. When we reached Winches- 
ter, the little family was placed in the hands of some 
good people named Goldsborough, who gave them the 
best of care. 

We did not see them again, but we knew that in all 
the fury of war and the storm of sectional hate, that 
one woman’s grateful heart in the sunny South daily 
blessed the name of the North and set it always in her 
most fervent prayers for the sake of her baby’s saviors 
and her own. 

I saw Mr. Goldsborough a few years ago. He told 
me that his family was still on intimate terms with the 


Louisiana ladies, and that the boy born in the barn, as 
the Christ-Child had been one thousand eight hundred 
and sixty-four years before, was a fine, healthy youth, 
and that, .being French, the family had called him 
Noel Luray Perse val. 




A WOMAN OF WAR. 


CHAPTER I. 


A SUDDEN ATTACK. 

In the month of May, 1863, General Banks deter- 
mined to invest Port Hudson. 

Our brigade, then in garrison at Baton Rouge, was 
ordered to proceed northward by the main road, and 
open line of march, advancing in such a direction as to 
make, that same afternoon, a junction with the main 
body of the army, consisting of some twenty-two 
thousand men, who were mostly on transports coming 
up the Mississippi. The west side of the river was 
already guarded by a strong force, with orders to flank 
any batteries that might attempt to line the river 
banks. The brave Farragut and his victorious fleet, 
fresh from the conquests of the lower Mississippi forts, 
had proceeded up the river some ten days before. 

The day we began our march was terribly hot. 


22 


The sun shone scorchingly from a clear sky ; there 
was scarcely any breeze, and the dust which covered 
the roadway to an unusual thickness, added greatly to 
our hardships. By twelve o’clock the mercury regis- 
tered one hundred one and a half degrees; at three 
o’clock it rose to one hundred and three, an atmosphere 
in which the cool determination necessary to our 
success was rather difficult to maintain, although our 
feelings were certainly warm enough to satisfy the 
most exacting of commanders. As rapidly as they 
could under these circumstances, our men proceeded. 

Many fell victims to sunstroke, and the ambulances 
were filled with these unfortunates. It was literally 
hot warfare in those days. 

Few incidents marked the first part of the march. 
The atmosphere was too enervating, and the men 
were too tired for merry-making. 

But about two o’clock we reached a prettily-wooded 
country, and the refreshment of the cool shade 
produced a visible improvement in the men. A halt 
was made to give the brigade time to prepare the 
luxurious noon-day meal, which meant coffee, fried 
bacon and hard- tack. The country around us was 
rich in tropical vegetation, which had become slightly 
parched by the heat and drought; but the large fields 


i 


23 


and occasional habitations, with their long, hospitable- 
looking verandas and low thatched roofs, proclaimed a 
region of former, if not of present prosperity. 

Our crude meal over, the lines were reformed. 

Our ranks had commenced to defile out of the woods 
into the open country, when, to our utter amazement, 
we found ourselves confronted by a large force of 
Confederate cavalry. 

Immediately the men of the One Hundred and 
Sixty-second New York, who were in the lead, were 
deployed as skirmishers. Our own regiment — the One 
Hundred and Sixty-fifth New York Duryee Zouaves — 
was formed in line of battle. The Sixth Michigan and 
and a Connecticut regiment, whose number I do not 
recall, were still straggling out of the woods. 

We apprehended little danger, for we were under 
the impression that we had green troops to meet. In 
fact, we were glad that it was cavalry that we had to 
fight ; for we felt sure of capturing both men and 
horses. We relied entirely on their inexperience. 

But just there we made a great miscalculation. Our 
skirmishers advanced confidently and intrepidly ; but 
all of a sudden the Confederate cavalry made a brave, 
vigorous, undaunted charge, and the boys of the One 
Hundred and Sixty-second New York fell helter 


24 


skelter, pell-mell, on our right, driven back by the 
enemy. The Confederates followed up the panic with 
great fearlessness. Fortunately a volley from our guns 
checked their advance, and for the time drove them 
back to the woods. 

Evidently hard work was before us. Our sudden 
opponents might have been green, but they were 
plainly anxious to learn, and ready to practice on any 
stray material that came to hand. We had obliginglj", 
if involuntarily, offered ourselves to satisfy their yearn- 
ings in this direction. 

There seemed to be a constant increase in the 
number of our enemy who were strongly lodged in 
the woods. Reinforcements came to them from all 
sides. 

Had Gardner, the Confederate commander, come 
out of Port Hudson with his entire force to annihilate 
our small brigade? 

The question prompted itself repeatedly while the 
originally slim number, by the large acquisitions, 
developed into four full regiments of cavalry. Then 
we looked for the infantry. 

If it had come, we would have surely been lost. 
The heat had prostrated many of our men ; it had 
exhausted others, and weakened all. In nowise were 


25 


we in a fit condition to cope with an eneni}’ so strong 
and so nnnierous. 

The commanding officers held a hurried consulta- 
tion. It was determined to fall back to the woods 
which we had left a short time before. That position 
we could easily hold, and thus b}" getting into ' the 
woods, get out of them, too, by one bold move. 

But our retreat had scarcely begun, when, like a 
flash of lightning, the Confederates dashed toward us. 
To make our position still more dangerous, a fifth 
regiment of the enemy, rushed from the woods and 
flanked our forces. We began dismally to suspect 
that literally, the woods were full of them. 

Troops on a retreat are always at a great disadvan- 
tage. Few men can back out gracefull}^ and 
profitably from a position once confidently taken, 
whether they are fighting a battle of .swords or of pens 
— the most consistent of agnostics will admit the 
certainty of this fact. No doubt, it takes bravery 
and skill to make a successful charge, but it takes 
positive genius to make a succe.ssful retreat ; in 
attempting it, troops fall easier prey to the enemy 
than in any other movement. 

Knowing this fact, nothing was left us but to stand 
our ground and face the inevitable shock. 


26 


Instantly the thrilling notes of the brigade 
trumpeter ordered the officers to form squares by 
regiments e 7 i echelon, and in the next instant, our forces 
had assumed this position : 

• • 

i 62 d 
N. Y. 

I 

• • 

• • 

' i 

165th I 

N. Y. I 

• -• 

• • 

6 th 

Mich. 


• • 

Conn. 

Regt. 

• 

A study of this formation will show its peculiar 
efficacy. It so arranges the men that each regiment 
can protect the other’s flank. All the flanks are 
protected, except the outer angles of the two end 


27 


regiments. The dramatic impressiveness of such a' 
movement admits of no adequate description. The 
men, nervous with the approaching excitement, seem 
inwardly to feel the necessity of clinging clo.sel}^ to 
their fellow-comrades, and as the formation is made 
in double-quick time, the ranks move with the 
accurac}^ of clock-work, and assume their places in 
the line of battle as evenly as if the commanders had 
personall}^ placed them there. 

Nimes’ famous Boston Light Battery of six gun.s; 
was sub-divided into sections of two gun.s, and a 
section was a.ssigned to each one of the first three 
regiments. The guns were placed at the angles of 
the squares. The fourth square, containing the last 
regiment, was packed solid with our ambulances,, 
upon which reposed the .soldiers prostrated by the 
heat. 

In a few moments, the onslaught comes. 

As the solid mass of cavalry sweeps down upon us,, 
we begin to realize the strength of the men we have 
to fight. Texan Rangers, Louisiana Troopers, a 
regiment of Alabama Dragoons, whose motto was “To* 
Glory or to Death,'’ advance intrepidly, naked .sabre.s. 
in their hands and strong huzzahs of encouragement 
in their throats They dash valiantly ahead. Volley- 


28 


;after volley belches forth from our guns, but their 
‘lilies do not waver. Empty saddles are turned aside, 
.and able-bodied men fill the vacancies as fast as our 
'guns can make them. 

At first, our peculiar formation repulses their terrific 
-advance, and our brisk, heavy firing begins to tell 
■upon their ranks ; but in the face of death, their 
bravery is undaunted, their resolution unfaltering. 

What can they mean ? They withdraw as suddenly 
-as they came. They abandon the general attack of 
'Our ranks. 

But now we see ! They have changed their 
purpose. They concentrate their whole force upon 
the unprotected outer angle of the One Hundred and 
"Sixty-second New York. Massing their columns, and 
doubling in close array, the^^ begin the second attack. 
'The gleaming sabres are their weapons. ^ • 

On swiftl3% boldly, headlong, they come. 

^ he}^ approach the flank, and the carnage begins. 
''The steady fire of the musketry fails to daunt their 
■determination. Straight-way we see that our first 
regiment is doomed. Such valor must succeed, or 
they will perish gloriousl}'^ in the attempt. 

Their attack is well conceived; they strike the 
■‘Outer edge of the unprotected angle; it becomes a 


29 


maii-to-man fight : the other regiments dare not breahr 
their square formations, for the Confederates move 
with such celerity that it would endanger the whole 
line. The troopers, wild with excitement, scatter- 
destruction on every side. 

Men fall by hundreds. 

More intense the warfare rages, and — great heavens C 
the angle has given way. The square breaks; the 
panic-stricken regiment rushes on the One Hundred 
and Sixtj^-fifth ; the horsemen dash upon our retreat-- 
ing men, and many a poor fellow falls upon the 
ground in the agony of death. 

The Confederates see another chance of breaking 
our second square, by rushing in with the stragglers.. 
But their plans are not so successful as before. Three 
or four companies of the broken regiment reach the 
square, and are quickly placed in position to strengthen 
the endangered angle. The troopers come quickly,, 
but hundreds of muskets scatter death amid their 
ranks, and empty saddles tell clearly that the}^ have- 
paid dearly for their temporary victory. 

Still they do not give in. Their last regiment hekk 
in reserve, conies thundering towards the angle. 

But many of the horses stop and refuse to advance. 
The reason is found in the brilliant red, white and! 


30 


'blue Zouave uniforms, which shine brightly in the 
■sunlight. The troopers try in vain to make the 
animals go forward; they stubbornly refuse. Then 
it is that a part of the command dismount, and, 
•carbine in hand, bravely dash towards our lines, 
fighting, although at a disadvantage, with the same 
’undaunted firmness as before. 

In the midst of this close-quarter conflict. General 
<Greason, who had left Baton Rouge three hours later 
than ounselves, comes in sight with two regiments 
of his cavalry, one from Michigan and one from 
Illinois. Wellington at Waterloo never looked more 
anxiously for Blucher and his 30,000 men, than did 
'we for Greason and his cavalrymen. His appear- 
ance puts an end to the fighting. The Confederates 
^retreat with all possible haste. Our cavalry, followed 
by two regiments of infantry, are sent in close 
pursuit, with instructions to drive the eneni}^ into 
Tort Hudson and keep tlfem there. 

To our own regiment and what is left of the 
One Hundred and Sixty-second, is entrusted the bury- 
ing of the dead. Over two hundred bodies lay upon 
the field. 

The ordeal of interring the remains of dead soldiers, 
\whether they be .friend or foe, is the saddest experi- 


31 


ence of military life. The enmities of the battle, 
the cruelties, the savage desires, are all overshadowed 
by the sorrow that attends the rude burial. Long 
trenches are dug, and the bodies, three and four deep, 
are placed in their last resting-place, with no relig- 
ious ceremoii}", but with a silence which tells elo- 
quently of the feelings of our men. 




32 


CHAPTER II. 


THE TWO CAPTIVES. 

We did not get much rest. 

The next day we were moving again. Our 
orders were to proceed to Clinton, a lovely little 
town some twelve miles east of Port Hudson, to 
dislodge and scatter any force that we might meet 
The weather was more agreeable, and our progress 
was not hampered by .so much difficulty and suffer- 
iiig — mainly, because our path was through one of 
those great Louisiana forests, which give such wel- 
come shade on a warm summer day. 

We had entered the road that led to Clinton. As 
we were jogging along, our advance guard hastily 
brought us bad news. They reported danger ahead. 

W^e anxiously looked for it, but our anxiety was 
misplaced. The large force that we expected, dwin- 
dled to two harmless riders who had entered the 
woods from the opposite direction, and who were 
coming directly towards us. 


33 


One of them was a lady. 

She was young, beautiful and self-possessed. A 
neat riding habit worn with a Stonewall Jackson hat, 
set off her well-formed figure perfectly. Her compan- 
ion was a tall, athletic-looking, handsome young 
man, wearing a Confederate uniform. The rich 
mountings and trappings of their horses implied 
aristocratic and distinguished connections. 

Our men in the advance were signaled to hide 
behind the bushes, and the main body was ordered 
to halt. Into this ambush, the two companions 
came. As they approached, we could hear their 
voices, see their glad smiles, and almost enjoy their 
own happiness. 

But what puzzled us most was a lovely white 
dove, which seemed impatient in its attentions. It 
would perch on the lady^s shoulders and then light 
upon the young man. Altogether, it was a charming 
picture. There was no need to guess the thoughts 
and conversation of the young pair. In the low, 
earnest tones of. the youth, in the ardent glances 
bent upon the fair face beside him, in the pas- 
sionate eyes drinking in its beauty, and in the 
droop of the girl’s proud head, the flush on her 
cheek and the shy, yet happy smile just touching 


34 


her lips, was plainly to be read the old, old story. 
Absorbed in each other, oblivious of their surround- 
ings, the}^ were evidentl}^ wandering in Arcady : 
straight from the fairyland of romance, the}’ were 
coming to a stern reality of which they did not 
dream. So they rode blissfully on, unconscious of 
the snare awaiting them as was the dove, that, 
hovering about them, courted their caresses. 

They came on at an easy pace, carelessly and 
unsuspectingly. The more closely we saw ’ her, the 
more we admired her beauty.. But it was not that 
only which attracted us, for from the dark eyes 
bright with hope and love, lifted one moment, to be 
veiled the next under sweeping lishes, looked out 
at every man of us, another pair of eyes mirrored in 
hers, some gayly laughing, some sweetly grave, but 
all with that same look of love. Sweethearts are 
sweethearts the w^orld over — hearts were none the 
less susceptible for either the blue or gray coats 
over them, and at this sudden appeal of nature, w^e 
were for a moment soldiers no more, but lovers all, 
and not a man among us looking on that little 
scene, but sent a tender thought and a longing sigh 
to where, somewhere in the North, watching and 
waiting, was the girl he left behind him. 


Ill fact, our warlike hearts were so entirely capt- 
ured by such a picture of peace and its sweet 
suggestions, that it was with deep regret orders 
were given for our men to rush from their hiding 
places. Instantly, the two riders made a sudden bolt 
with their horses, only to find themselves com- 
pletely and hopelessly surrounded. 

^‘You must dismount, sir, and invite your lady to 
do the same,” said the commander to the young 
Confederate; 

Never, sir. This sword, given to me b}' Beaure- 
gard, shall never be disgraced by a weak surrender 
to a pack of cowards. Give me a chance, and I’ll 
show you what I mean.” 

With this he raised the Damascus blade above 
his head to strike, but suddenly he seemed to 
realize the position of the lady, and taking the 
sword at both extremities and striking the blade on 
the pommel of the saddle, broke it in two. Ex- 
claiming that he had not violated his vow, he 
threw the shattered pieces aside, leaped from the 
saddle to the ground, and rushing to the lady’s 
side, assisted her to dismount. 

The saddle-bags and trappings were searched for 
despatches, but none were found. Questions were 


36 


asked them, but they answered unsatisfactorily, and 
the more inquisitive we became, the shorter grew 
their replies. At last the lad}^ tired of our impor- 
tunities, said in a clear and resolute voice : 

^‘Gentlemen, 5^011 might save yourselves much 
trouble by ceasing to ask any more questions. We 
are your prisoners. We both belong to the Con- 
federate service. Take us, and make the best of 
your prize ; but don't try to get any information 
from us. We are no cowards.” 

“I believe 3^011, but you are not the kind of 
soldiers we are looking for,” replied the commander. 
‘‘I will send this young man to General Sherman’s 
headquarters. As for you. Miss, we will return you 
to your home at the first opportunit\\ For the 
present, you will remain with us.” 

The prospect of separation seemed to enrage as 
much as to dismay her. 

I want nothing from you ! ” she exclaimed. I 
hate you all from the bottom of 1113^ heart ! What- 
ever harm you intend to do him, I am ready to 
share.” 

Her evident hatred was too much for her com- 
posure. She told the commander what she thought 
of him with unmistakable emphasis, and let those 


who have never enjoyed the doubtful pleasure ot 
having their pictures drawn before their faces in 
the most uncomplimentar}' colors, or who . have 
never been exposed defenceless to the attacks of a 
thoroughly angry woman, imagine, if they can, our 
feelings, as we stood there, compelled to listen 
silently to the flood of bitterness poured on our 
devoted heads by our fair prisoner. 

To inspire a pretty girl with wrath and contempt 
is unpleasant, to say the least; to have her tell you 
so plainly and forcibly, is worse still ; but to have 
this information conveyed as it was to us, by a 
tongue as fearless as our own swords, and a great 
deal sharper, is an experience no man need covet, 

and perhaps it is superfluous to say we did not 

enjo}" it. If we had taken her by surprise, she cer- 

tainly bid fair to return the compliment b}' taking 
us by storm. 

Finally, her wrought up feelings found relief in 
tears. The officer, affected by her desperation, 

approached to offer consolation, but she made a 
hysterical rush towards him with both hands out- 
stretched, as if to do injury to his face. He caught 
her wrists and soon the storm of anger having 


38 

passed, she became more calm and accepted a seat 
that was offered her. 

We could afford to waste no time. Our important 
errand admitted of no delay. 

It was then decided to send both of the prisoners to 
Gen. T. W. Sherman’s headquarters. An ambulance 
was prepared, and under a good guard, they were 
despatched to that destination. Both accepted the 
situation calmly, and began their journey without a 
parting word to our officers. 

The regiment in a short time arrived at Clinton — a 
charming town, consisting mostly of frame houses 
with large porches and well-kept lawns, showing not 
only the property of the cotton planters who owned 
them, but excellent taste in house architecture as 
well. We were greatly surprised to learn that the 
people had heard nothing of our hard fight the day 
before, and it made us hope that General Greason 
had succeeded in driving the Confederate cavalry 
into Port Hudson. Nothing of moment occurred 
during the two days we remained in the town. 

The third day we were on the line of the invest- 
ment of Port Hudson with our division of the 
Nineteenth Corps. 


39 


CHAPTER III. 


THE FORLORN HOPE. 

Our first intimation of the identity of the two 
captives came several days later. 

General Banks, assistant adjutant general, sent an 
order to our commanding officer to furnish him with 
full information about the capture of Miss Alice 
Batheley and Captain B. Latimer. The special in- 
quiry, of course, excited curiosity, and hundreds of 
questions were asked. First, we learned that Captain 
Latimer had been sent along with a squad of prisoners 
to Baton Rouge, by the very road on which we had 
marched. Near the place of our own fight, the guard 
was attacked by Confederates, and in the excitement 
Captain Latimer escaped. The Union men had a 
hard fight, and barely got away from their assailants. 

Captain Buckley, commanding the squad, was after- 
wards placed under arrest — not so much, we learned, 
for losing his prisoners, but because he had special 
instructions to look out for Captain Latimer, who was 


40 


a West Point graduate, and the best topographical 
engineer the Confederates had in that locality. They 
knew full well that should he get back into Port 
Hudson, he would prove a most undesirable enem)^ 

The siege was dragging from da}^ to da}^, from 
week to week, until it got to be from month to month. 

Charge after charge had been made with no result. 
We succeeded in exploding the redoubt and citadel, 
but it accomplished nothing. As we rushed in, it 
was only to find ourselves in deserted earthworks, 
faced by inner lines of fortified strongholds. Indeed, 
the unfaltering industr}- of the Confederates, and their 
apparent knowledge of our movements, passed our 
comprehension. It seemed impossible for us to pre- 
pare a surprise of any kind. The}^ were always 
ready to receive and to repulse us. 

Fortunately, no hostile force wandered in our rear. 
The country back of us was free and unoccupied, 
except by ourselves, and the plantations whose oc- 
cupants had become reconciled to the presence of 
Union troops. 

Among these was the well-known Batheley plan- 
tation, one of the largest in East P'eliciana parish. 
The house was one of those commodious, low-roofed 
residences of the South, with its wealth of verandas 


41 


and porches, located in the midst of a great lawn, 
and almost hid from sight by the tall trees that 
gave it an abundance of delightful shade. Its hos- 
pitality was gradually opened to our officers, and 
before the siege, which in time became so tiresome 
to our men, had progressed very far, it was no 
unusual sight to see several Union officers visit the 
mansion to pay their respects to the ladies who 
were the sole occupants, the men being away in the 
Confederate service. 

The family consisted of three — Mrs. Batheley, a 
lady of about fifty years of age, tall, dignified and 
matronly, and her two daughters. The elder was 
Miss Alice, who fell into our hands while she was 
returning home from Clinton with Captain Latimer, 
and who was subsequently released by General 
Sherman. She affected to have forgotten the un- 
pleasant features of her capture, and received the 
Union officers at her home with all the charming 
grace that characterizes the Southern woman. She 
was a tall brunette, with eyes of almost fiery 
brightness, lips expressive of resolution, and a smile 
which, though beautiful, was too dignified to be 
genial. She was a very close observer, and a sharp, 
shrewd questioner. Her sister Blanche was a soft, 


42 


petite blonde, very unlike Miss Alice, but a great 
favorite. 

The prominent officers were not only welcomed 
to the Batheley mansion, but were always invited 
to call again. Indeed, it became no uncommon 
sight to see the two sisters riding in company 
with United States officers through the camps. 

Miss Alice became as much interested in the 
weapons of war as any of our men. New works or 
batteries alwa5’S received her attention, and she was 
such a delightful and appreciative listener, that fre- 
quently many of the officers took pleasure in 
explaining to her various things in which ordinary 
women would take no concern. We knew, of 
course, that they had Southern feelings and sympa- 
thies, but they were helpless and unable to do us 
harm, and it would have been a shame for us to 
have treated them otherwise than in a most cour- 
teous manner. Even a guard was placed around 
the house to protect them from intruders and 
marauders. In fact, some of the boys called them 
the mother and daughters of the regiment, and if 
occasionally the officers mixed a little more gallant- 
ry in their protecting attentions than was altOT 
gether consistent with the dignity of the fatherly 


43 


character, let it be remembered that when suscepti- 
ble young soldiers adopt themselves as fathers to 
beautiful and fascinating maidens, it is not always 
possible for their thoughts to retain the strictly 
paternal cast that the situation requires. Indeed, 
several of the “venerable fathers” were seized with 
acute symptoms of poetry, and strangely enough,, 
suffered severely from violent agitation during the 
secret composing process to which they subjected 
themselves, the results frequently being even more 
miserable than the process itself. 

We made very slow progress in our campaign. 

Repeatedly but vainly we tried to storm one of 
the angles of the fortifications, until it seemed as if 
a guardian angel was always there to notify the 
Confederate commander when and where to mass 
his troops. 

After a number of resultless attempts. General 
Banks determined to carry the work by a coup de 
main. 

With that in view, he called for a volunteer force 
of one thousand men from his whole army to lead 
a last attack upon the fort. We had met with so 
many reverses that the recruiting process was 
tedious beyond an}’ expectation. The men were 


44 


too chary of danger to voluntarily offer themselves 
as victims to the enemy’s guns. At the end of the 
first week the roll did not muster three hundred 
and fifty men. The second and third weeks scarcely 
raised this number to four hundred. But that force 
was deemed sufficient to lead a division by night 
assault. Col. Berbridge, of Connecticut, volunteered 
to command and all arrangements were made for 
a last and determined attack. The four hundred 
men were divided into two sections, and each was 
placed under the bravest and most resolute officers. 

Notification was given early in the morning that 
the dash would be made that night. The brave 
four hundred spent the most of the day writing 
letters to the dear ones at home, their sweethearts 
and their friends, describing the dangers before 
them, and the probabilities of falling in the fight. 
And in case they should be killed, they begged to 
be remembered as having died in the service of 
their country with their faces bravely to the enemy. 
They wrote these words, prompted by no idle 
sentimentality, but from a deep Conviction that the 
night’s work would end their military careers. 
They knew the bravery and audacity of the Con- 


45 


federates, and with fearful odds against them, they 
apprehended the worst. 

Supper that night was a deeply serious aifair. It 
was looked upon by four hundred daring men as 
their last meal on earth, and the impressive silence 
in which they ate, told vividly the wrought-up 
condition of their feelings. 

The plans of the attack were all arranged. The 
four hundred — known as the “Forlorn Hope Party” 
— were to lead with ladders and ropes to scale the 
walls ; then a brigade of infantry, with some 
engineers to tear down the parapets; then another 
brigade, together with Nimes and the Vermont 
Gray Horse batteries. The signal of the assault 
was to be the bugle sound of “ good-night,” at nine 
o’clock, which, being heard every night in the 
camp, would arouse no suspicion on the part of the 
Confederates. 

At half-past eight the tattoo sounded. The men 
took their places for the advance ; the forces were 
drawn up, eager to proceed, so as to end the 
anxiety that was burdening their minds; the time 
slipped slowly away, and a few minutes more would 
send the boys to a costly victory or a more costly 


46 

defeat ; every heart was beating for the sound of 
the signal. 

But. thank heaven ! it never came. 

Just before nine o’clock orders passed along the 
lines for us to regain our former positions. “What 
is the matter?” asked hundreds of men of one 
another. No one could answer. 

The mystery was not solved until next day. 


CHAPTER IV. 


DISCOVERING A SPY. 

Lieutenant Hall had charge of the guard at the 
Batheley mansion. 

Being a handsome, polite young fellow, he was 
treated with great consideration and kindness by 
the ladies. In return he did them many little 
services for which they professed deep appreciation. 
He found his task a pleasant one, and the ladies 
appeared to enjoy his company as greatly as he did 
theirs* Consequently there was no inconsiderable 
friendship between Hall, the protector, and the 
Batheleys, the protected. 


47 


The Lieutenant often wondered why Miss Alice 
walked alone through the grove every evening 
about twilight. He would have gladly suggested 
himself as a companion in these lonely strolls, but 
something in her manner checked every attempt at 
such a proposal, and no doubt a little pique sharp- 
ened his wonder on the subject. 

At first he attributed it to a love of romance, but 
as Miss Alice was more a woman of realities than 
of fancies he had a vague suspicion that there was 
some hidden cause for her unusual action. It 
certainly did not seem natural for a young and 
pretty girl to be wandering by herself in the gloam- 
ing with a handsome, dashing young ofiicer within 
easy reach — it was contrary to all precedent — and 
like the melancholy Dane when he discovered a 
solitary pedestrian on the premises, the gallant 
Lieutenant began to suspect that something was 
rotten in the estate of Batheley. 

One evening, after the sun went down, he saw 
her taking the customary stroll, and letting his 
curiosity get the better of his politeness, he joined 
her in the grove. As he approached he noticed 
that she was agitated, and by no means solicitous 
for his society, but he affected to see nothing 


48 

unusual in her manner. After awhile, however, he 
could not refrain from saying : 

“You seem nervous this evening.” 

“Oh, no!” she said, “I only feel sorry for your 
poor men, for I’m afraid you will be defeated 
to-night again.” 

“ Is there to be an attack to-night ? ” 

“ Why, yes ; did you not know ? ’ ’ 

“I had not heard of it.” 

“I thought everybody knew that,” she responded; 
and then she proceeded to scan the horizon care- 
fully towards Port Hudson. 

They had a full sweep of the country in that 
direction. 

A few minutes afterwards an incident happened, 
so slight in itself that Hall came near missing its 
real significance. He had noticed a pigeon flying 
swiftly towards them, but he did not pay especial 
heed to it, until a little later it alighted on Miss 
Alice’s shoulder. She took the bird in her hands 
and began caressing it. Presently it flew a short 
distance from her. As it did so Hall imagined he 
saw a roll of paper affixed to its leg. The bird, 

t 

however, came back, and Miss Alice, bidding the 
lyieutenant good-evening, walked towards the house 
with the pigeon still fluttering around her shoulder. 


49 


She had not more than reached the door before a 
terrible suspicion took possession of Hall. Was the 
bird a carrier pigeon? Was Miss Alice Batheley a 
Confederate spy, in communication with Port Hud- 
son ? How did she know of the night attack ? 
The questions demanded explanation. 

He determined to solve the mystery. The light 
of the lamp showed him the room into which Miss 
Alice had gone. It was on the second story. Hall 
carefully removed his shoes, clamored noiselessly up 
the portico, and, to his joy, found a small aperture 
in the window. 

Immediately he saw how correct were his suspi- 
cions. Miss Alice and Miss Blanche were alone in 
the room. With a pair of scissors they were cutting 
the small roll of paper from the pigeon’s leg. 

There was only one thing to be done, and he did 
not hesitate. 

He rushed into the apartment. The sight of him 
was enough of itself to tell the sisters that their 
secret was discovered, and Miss Blanche fainted 
from fright, while her stronger sister tried frantical- 
ly to protect the dove. So fiercely did she struggle 
that by main force she kept Hall at a distance. 
Goaded on by anger, she fought with the despera- 
tion of a woman, and the strength of a man. Hall 


50 


called his men, and they overpowered the fair 
warrior as gently as they could. But even then 
the bird had to be taken from her, for she refused 
to give it up. 

“I arrest you both as spies,” said the Lieutenant, 
and the ladies, seeing further resistance useless, 
submittted without remonstrance. 

He got possession of the paper. It was written 
in hand-writing extremely fine, and read as fol- 
lows : 

“Your message received just in time. We are 
getting ready to surprise the surprisers. How can 
we thank you for your goodness? Were it not for 
your messages, we could not hold out another week, 
for we are now one against two. I shall command 
a battery to-night. Alice, pray for my success, and 
remember that I think of you always. God bless 
you. Latimer.” 

As soon as the ladies were safely under arrest. 
Hall lost no time in bridling a horse. He rode 
swiftly to headquarters, and explained what had 
taken place. Lhe commander saw that he had been 
outwitted by a female spy. He decided to prevent 
bloodshed. 

And that is why he countermanded the orders. 


51 


CHAPTER V. 


CONDEMNED TO BE SHOT. 

The next day the prisoners were brought before 
the commanding officer. 

Mrs. Batheley was repentant and bowed down 
with grief. Miss Blanche was, “like Niobe, all 
tears.'’ But Miss Alice stood calm and defiant. 
Her face had not a sign of fear. She looked the 
officers straight in the face, and in the superior 
contempt which flashed from her eyes there was 
proclaimed a bold indifference to the fate awaiting 
her. Her tightly compressed lips carried out the 
picture of heroic determination, daring and impen- 
itence. 

She was aggressive from the start. 

No sooner had she been brought before the 
officers than she began to upbraid the Union army 
and all- those who were in the hearing of her voice. 
She applied the bitterest language to the com- 
mander and stigmatized him with words, which, 
though not vulgar, were all the more unwelcome 


52 


because a woman spoke them. The commander 
appealed to her to restrain her feelings, and to 
respect his position and rank. Unless there were 
some mitigating circumstances, he said, the stern 
rules of military discipline would compel him to 
have her shot as a common spy. For this reason 
he begged her to be quiet. But the more he be- 
seeched, the more she seemed disposed to disregard 
his entreaties. She fearlessly said that she was 
glad of our defeat; that she was proud of the part 
she had taken in it, and that she felt no repentance 
in anything she had done. 

St. Clair, a professional lawyer and a staff officer, 
offered to plead her case and to exert himself to 
overcome the prejudice that was fast forming 
against her. At the furthest the other two ladies 
were accessories to the crime, and they were only 
kept under arrest for the time. 

But Miss Alice was ordered to appear before a 
drum-head court-martial the next morning. 

With all the prejudice, there was a general sym- 
pathy for the fair prisoner, and hope was entertain- 
ed that moderation might be exerted in her 
extraordinary case. The court met in a large 
hospital tent prepared for the occasion. The intense 


53 


excitement which abounded everywhere, reached 
even the dignitaries who acted as judges. The 
only person unaffected was the accused. She faced 
the whole proceeding with such calm, immovable 
composure that even those who hated her crime 
could not help but admire her nobility. 

The trial opened and progressed amid oppressive 
silence. 

The evidence against the prisoner was conclusive. 
Ill vain Lieutenant St. Clair tried to gain time for 
his client, but the necessities of war were imperative 
and the time could not be granted. Then he tried 
to give a rose-colored meaning to the despatch, 
which was displayed in the court, by saying that 
it was in cipher, and therefore only to be under- 
stood by the lady who received it. Then he waxed 
eloquent. He described her womanly qualities, her 
filial affection, her love of home, and even went so 
far as to slip in a few compliments to her beauty. 
And to cap the climax of the wonderful defence, he 
ended his speech in the most approved legal way 
by entering for his client a plea of insanity. His 
address had a telling effect. 

As soon as he had finished speaking. Miss Alice 
arose to her feet, and, in ringing tones, exclaimed, 


54 


“No, No! Gentlemen, I will stand no such 
nonsense. I am not and never have been insane. 
What I have done, I have done knowingly and 
purposely, and I am not afraid to say so. Enter 
the plea of guilty if you wish and do your worst. 
When you first arrested me, with Captain Eatinier, 
I told you that we both belonged to the Confeder- 
ate service. I meant what I said, and I am no spy. 
If you doubted my word it is no fault of mine, for 
I frankly told you what you now know to be true. 
But to show you how little I care for your decision, 
I will say that the carrier pigeon was especially 
trained by Captain Latimer and me for the work 
it has so successfully done. Now you know why 
you have been defeated so many times — now you 
know why the noble Confederates have always been 
ready for your attacks — now you know why they 
have been able to kill so many of your men — now 
you can see how much a woman-of-war can do, 
when she has enough resolution to bear her up and 
spur her on. I am proud of my work, and to the 
end I shall be proud of it still. I hate your cause, 
I hate the sight of you, and I despise any offer of 
mercy you can give me. There are more honest, 
noble-hearted men over yonder in that Confederate 


55 


fort, than in all the armies of the blue-coats put 
together. I am a Confederate woman, and I want 
no pity from any of you. Now, end this farce of a 
trial as soon as you can, and pass your sentence. 
I am ready to hear it.” 

It is futile to attempt to describe the effect of 
these words. Never had men heard a woman so 
audacious, so brave and yet so eloquent ; but it was 
the eloquence that condemned — not the eloquence 
that saved. 

To the court no other course was possible than a 
verdict of guilty. Thus they decided, and she was 
sentenced to be shot as a spy. The execution was 
fixed at eight o’clock the next morning. 

The tent in which the court-martial had been 
held was given up entirely to the prisoner. Until 
“ Good night ’ ’ was sounded, Mrs. Batheley and 
Miss Blanche were permitted to visit the condemned 
and offer her whatever consolation lay within their 
power. Miss Alice was still calm, and she answer- 
ed the tears of her mother and sister with words of 
love, solace and encouragement. When the bed- 
time-hour came, at nine o’clock, the two ladies 
retired to their own quarters and left Miss Alice 
alone. 


56 


Sympathy for her became universal. 

Even the officers who passed the dreadful sen- 
tence were moved to pity when they contemplated 
the fate of a woman so pure and beautiful. The 
thought, too, that she was a promised bride, loving 
with all the intensity of the passionate Southern 
nature, lent a sad and romantic pathos to her fate. 
She was to die, and die ignominiously, with youth, 
beauty, love, to make life sweet to her. Under the 
very shadow of the walls that held her lover, she 
was to be parted from him forever, without even 
the poor consolation of looking once more upon his 
face. 

A.11 this, of course, had no pertinent bearing on 
her sentence, but its influence was none the less 
powerful, and even her judges felt its force, while 
in the majority of the men it almost effaced the 
gravity of her offence. 

The verdict was thought to be too severe. Her 
sex seemed to deserve more lenient consideration. 
She should have been sent a prisoner to Fort War- 
ren or Fort Lafayette. But sympathy was useless, 
for the sentence was passed. 

That night the guard around the prisoner's tent 
was doubled. 


57 


The men comprising it did not anticipate their 
task with any evidence of pleasure, but duty as 
soldiers compelled them to accept the responsibility. 
They began the watch with a sadness that was 
deepened as the minutes flew by. The thought of 
a young life so near its doom made the night more 
gloomy than it really was. No wonder, then, long 
after the tattoo had died avray, long after the lights 
had faded into darkness, long after the minutes had 
slipped into hours — no wonder the guardsmen stop- 
ped suddenly as they heard the murniurings of a 
sweet, plaintive voice, uttering the supplication of a 
brave heart. Ah, how sweetly she prayed ! How 
earnestly ! How touchingly ! 

She called upon the God of the helpless and 
defenceless to look down in His great mercy upon 
her. She thanked Him for the strength he had 
given her to face death for her country and her 
people. She had not sought glory or worldly fame, 
but in serving her country she deemed herself 
to be serving Him. ‘‘ Bless our cause,” she prayed, 
and comfort the bruised and bleeding hearts 
throughout this great land. I pray Thy special 
grace for those nearest and dearest to me. Be with 
them in the hour of affliction and help them to 


58 


bear the burdens that Thou hast seen fit to lay 
upon them. Be merciful to him who was to have 
been my husband/’ and here for the first time the 
sweet tones faltered, “carry him unharmed through 
all this terrible conflict, and grant that we may 
meet in that better land beyond the tomb. And 
these things I ask in Thy Son’s name. Amen.” 

A prayer so sweet would have touched a rougher 
heart than a soldier’s. The guardsmen’s eyes wet 
with tears, told of its power more eloquently than 
words. It had gone straight to their souls. 

That night a violent storm arose. It lasted until 
dawn, but by sunrise it had disappeared as suddenly 
as it had come. 

In the morning the brigade assembled for the 
execution. The band played solemn funeral dirges. 
The soldiers formed in three sides of a square. • At 
one end was a coffin, and opposite was the firing 
party of twelve men. Six guns were loaded; six 
were empty. These were distributed promiscuously 
among the men, so that not one of them could tell 
whether or not he had fired a fatal shot. 

The officer of the guard raised the flap of the 
tent, and saw the prisoner sitting by the table with 
her face buried in her hands. In a solemn voice 


59 


he read the order of the day and the decision of 
the court-martial which condemned her to be shot 
at eight o’clock. The chaplain gave her words of 
consolation, but in it all she remained unmoved. 
Questions were put to her, but there were no 
responses. 

Was she dead? Apprehending the fearful truth, 
the officer approached and touched her upon the 
shoulder. She did not move. He tried to raise her 
head. As he did so, the figure tumbled to pieces. 

It was nothing but a dummy, rigged out in Miss 
Alice Batheley’s dress and bonnet, and stuffed with 
Spanish moss and straw. 

She had escaped. 

The only information we ever received of her was 
just after the war, when she sent our commanding 
officer a marked copy of a Clinton paper, containing 
the notice of the marriage of Miss Alice Batheley 
to Captain B. Tatimer. 


It is a well known fact that a few weeks before 
Andrew Johnson retired from the presidency, he 
pardoned two soldiers sentenced to the Dry Tortu- 


6o 


gas for life for assisting a prisoner to escape. These 
were the men who guarded Miss Batheley’s tent. 
Her prayer had conquered their hearts, and, aided 
by the storm, they gave her back her life, her 
liberty, and her hgppiness. 




THE 


GUNNER OF “LADY DAVIS.” 


CHAPTER I. 


A SURPRISE. 

No advance guard ever received a greater surprise. 

The Confederates had been driven from their rifle 
pits on the banks of the Mississippi. We rushed 
forward, expecting to find them either fleeing over 
the ground or entrenched behind redoubts bristling 
with guns. 

But we were disappointed. 

We could see their position at Port Hudson. We 
could view easily the surrounding landscape. But 
no skirmishers could be found. All had disappeared 
under the cover of the abattis. Not a sign of life 
disturbed the serenity of the earthworks in front of 
us. They seemed deserted except for one thing— 
the Stars and Bars floating from a high staff". 


62 


What further puzzled us was the fact that the 
parapet of a redoubt is usually lined with guns, 
especially when it is built to flank a great line of 
earthwork defences. It is the key of the position, 
as the only ingress and egress of the fortification is 
a subterranean passage. 

Nor did our surprise stop here. Just as we were 
coming out of the woods and nearing a fork in the 
road,^ we suddenly faced, firmly nailed to a tree, a 
large wooden sign whose inscription in red letters 
gave us to understand that we had been expected. 
Decorated with a skull and cross-bones, it read : 

YANKS, BEWARE! 

This is the Sure Road to Hell ! 

It was not a pleasant greeting, and it did not add 
to our comfort. The boys, of course, put on as 
bold a front as possible, but more than one, inclined 
to be superstitious, handed over tokens for safe 
keeping, and gave messages to be delivered in case 
of accident. 

Here we were at dusk in full view of the enemy's 
works, and within easy rifle shot. In vain did we 



63 


try to draw their fire. Not a gun, not a bayonet, 
not a cap, could be seen above the parapet. 

We slept on our arms that night. Only the 
breadth of the abattis separated us and the enemy. 
Daylight found us awake and apprehensive. Their 
flag was still there. But yet there were no signs of 
life; not even a cloud of dust indicated the move- 
ments of troops or guns. 

Yet we knew — having learned by experience — 
that General Gardner, the Confederate commander, 
had from twelve to fifteen thousand men in this 
very place. 

When Farragut came up the river with his fleet, 
the fortifications were crimsoned with fire. 

Fully one hundred and fifty guns lined the river 
front. The fire had been so terrific that two only, 
Farragut’ s own ship and its tender, were able to 
pass the fort. The rest of the fleet was beaten 
back, with the loss of the largest frigate, the famous 
old Mississippi. 

The official report stated that the Mississippi had 
been pierced from stem to stern by large calibre 
rifle shots, fired from a redoubt flanking the south 
end of Port Hudson, right on the banks of the 


river. 


64 

It is well known such guns must be mounted en 
barbette, which means so elevated as to fire over 
the parapet, the guns being on fixed carriages, with 
the half-moon swing. They are, therefore, in con- 
stant view, with the gunners placed in exceedingly 
hazardous position, especially when riflemen ap- 
proach the works near enough to pick off the 
gunners. 

But not one of these guns could be seen, and all 
sorts of conjectures were made as to the cause of 
their absence. 

The generally accepted theory was that Farragut 
had silenced them all as he passed up the river. 
Yet the experienced soldier could perceive the cool 
and cautious calculations of the Confederate com- 
mander in not wasting a single cartridge. 

It was on the 27th of May that General Banks 
imprudently sent a flag of truce to General Gard- 
ner, demanding his immediate and unconditional 
surrender, or that the non-combatants — women and 
children — be at once sent out of Port Hudson, as he 
would assault the place within three hours. 

The reply was courteous but firm: None would 
leave the fort, and as to surrender, never ! 


65 


While these negotiations were going on, the Union 
forces were getting into position for a general 
assault. As soon as the answer was received, orders 
were given to fire the abattis, consisting of felled 
timber, the most of it very green. 

This abattis played so important a part in the 
engagement which followed, that it is well to 
describe it. The fortifications had been built in the 
thick pine woods, and the space in front, for the 
breadth of about four hundred yards, had been 
cleared by felling the trees, and letting the trunks 
and boughs fall as they would, making an entangle- 
ment through which it was difficult to advance. 

An orderly approach of a line of attack was 
impossible, and an assault thus delayed would be 
exposed to a. withering fire of musketry and grape 
from the works. It was, therefore, necessary to 
remove this obstruction by setting it on fire. As 
the wind was against us, there was for a long while 
a blinding and suffocating smoke, but very little 
flame. 

For over two hours thousands of men waited for 
the flames to do their destructive work, and give 
free passage to our over-anxious troops. 

But the fire burned so slowly that General T. W. 
Sherman, who was then in command of the first 


66 


division of the Nineteenth Army Corps, became 
impatient, and ordered the Third Brigade to charge 
through the burning abattis. 

Then the boys recalled the dreadful inscription of 
the red-painted sign. “ Boys, this is the road to hellB 

Sure enough, in a few moments we were in a very 
hell. Men overcome by the smoke, fell among the 
brush only to be literally roasted alive. Their 
agonized and terrified faces as they sank in that 
fearful place, made pictures never to be forgotten, 
and added to the horrors around us. Yells of mortal 
agony from the tortured wretches as the flames grew 
fiercer, fed b)^ their human fuel, shrieks and curses 
of frightful despair, moans and feeble calls for help, 
mingled with hissing and roaring of the shells, 
joined in horrid din until it seemed,, indeed, as if 
hell itself was really opening under our feet, to 
engulf us alive in its fiery jaws. Horrors heaped 
on horrors, victims on victims, as we went on. Some 
fell, pierced by bullet or fragment of shell, with 
wounds that did not cause loss of consciousness, but 
only chained them to the ground amid the blazing 
boughs, hissing like serpents of fire around them. 

No human intelligence could conceive the awful 
reality of this horrible scene ; a demon’s ingenuity 


67 


could hardly have exceeded its intensity of agony. 

A hail storm of shot and shell was then pouring 
from the enemy’s batteries. 

One of the most prominent victims was Captain 
Adam Badeau. Ke fell, wounded in the left foot. 
The ball, entering from the top, penetrated entirely 
through his foot, and came out at the heel. His 
pain was terrible, as the ball in its passage shattered 
many small bones. 

Terrible were the thoughts of those 5^et unharmed 
who saw the dead and dying lying around them, 
and still were obliged to turn a deaf ear and close 
their eyes to all this suffering. To pause to help a 
companion or even a brother at the moment of 
assault is impossible ; for it is considered cowardly 
to stop while in the line of attack, if only to assist 
the wounded. The moment is critical. There is no 
time for pity. You must smother all the tender 
feelings of your heart, and move forward. A 
soldier’s duty at such a time has no room for mercy; 
however the horrors of war ma}' tear his heart, he 
has no choice but to obey that duty’s imperative 
call. 

In this famous charge. May 27, 1863, compara- 
tively few were able to make their way through 


68 


the abattis, the outer edge of which was about a 
quarter of a mile from the earthworks. 

But those who did manage to do so, found that 
they had then penetrated to the windward of the 
suffocating smoke, and were in full view of the 
parapet. What a contrast to the appearance of the 
place a few days before ! 

Port Hudson was enveloped in flame, from the 
flash of hundreds of cannons and thousands of 
muskets. Grape, canister, shells and solid shot 
were literally ploughing the ground in front of us, 
over which we were preparing to charge. 

But suddenly we felt a new horror. 

While about two hundred of us, who had man- 
aged to get through the abattis and were separated 
from the main body by the over-hanging black 
smoke, were waiting for the approach of the others, 
we discovered to our dismay, that a light battery of 
our own force had wheeled into action back of us, 
and was answering at random the shots from a huge 
gun that had made its appearance on the earth- 
works. We were in a trap, and between the Are 
of our own and the enemy’s guns. To stand up 
was sure death, and the only thing we could do was 
to throw ourselves flat on the earth. 


69 


CHAPTER II. 


THE DEMON GUN. 

Over fifty of our number fell victims to the 
double fire. 

Nothing could be done but watch, wait and study. 
While in that critical position, each man bidding 
the loved ones at home a silent farewell, attention 
was drawn to one of the most wonderful-looking 
guns ever seen in action. We well knew that there 
were some heavy pieces of artillery within the 
enemy’s works, and had long wondered why none 
were in sight ; but we were not prepared for such 
a demon as we were now facing. In the center of 
the chief redoubt was a large, black mass, which 
would gradually rise to the top of the parapet. 
When it had reached its proper elevation, we had 
before us the most appalling engine of destruction 
we had ever beheld. 

We had seen its movements, or else we would 
have doubted it to be in the power of man to 
handle it with such ease and rapidity. 


70 


N.o sooner was the gun in position than the 
parapet was lined with infantry, whose well directed 
volleys protected the gunner by drawing the 
attention of the sharp-shooters frorri him. Under 
cover of this arrangement, the gunner would spring 
up, aim the gun and disappear, all in less time than 
it takes to tell. 

And then this infernal-machine, loaded, it seemed, 
almost to the muzzle, would belch forth upon us 
its volleys of death. 

We could go neither backward nor forward. 
Behind us flamed and smoked the abattis. A wall 
of Are isolated us from all our friends. In that 
entanglement the screams of the wounded men 
could be heard with heart-sickening distinctness. 
Through the black pall of smoke, hissed the grape 
and shells that our own artillery was firing, ignorant 
of our position. In front of us stretched the long 
curtain of breastworks, sheeted with musketry fire, 
and in the salient was that hideous piece of heavy 
artillery, which moved as easily as if animated by 
a gleeful devil, delighting in destruction. 

It made the heart stand still every time it 
vomited forth its messages of death. 


71 


We squeezed ourselves as flat to the earth as 
possible, and thanked God after each discharge that 
we were still alive. That gun was evidently a 
singularly perfect piece of mechanism. It was a 
mystery" to many of us. It arose loaded to the 
surface, and in less than a minute was aimed and 
fired. The recoil would carry it back to a place of 
safety under the parapet, where it would be reload- 
ed, again to raise its ugly black muzzle above the 
bastion. Everything about it moved like clockwork. 
The only sign of life connected with it was a hand- 
some, athletic young fellow with long, flowing hair. 
He would rapidly mount the gun carriage as it rose, 
run his eye along the sight, motion with his hand 
to have it moved to the right or left, as the case 
might require. His leaping down was the signal to 
fire. 

There was a fearful fascination in watching all 
this. 

The havoc made in our small squad of two hun- 
dred was terrible. Our light battery, beyond the 
smoke of the burning abattis, was still firing at 
random, and we felt that something must be done 
to silence that big gun, or our small party must all 
perish. One after another of us tried to shoot the 


72 


gunner, but he bore a charmed life. If a man 
dared to raise his head, it soon sank with a wound 
in it. If that gunner was only killed, probably his 
successor would not be so bold. 

Colonel Abel Smith, of the One Hundred and 
Sixty-fifth New York, bravely stood up and aimed 
at the fearless gunner, but only to throw up his 
hands and fall a dead man. 

Major Carr tried to avenge him, and he fell 
wounded in the leg. 

We had now been in this position for more than 
an hour. The abattis was still burning, and with 
increased fury, completely shutting off all retreat. 

But suddenly, no one knew why, the direction of 
the gun’s fire was changed. There was less smoke 
and more flame in the abattis, and though the fire 
of the gun was more rapid, it pointed more to the 
right of us. Shells and solid shot were now taking 
the place of the grape and canister that had been 
aimed at us. Our batteries entered into a regular 
duel with it, and drew from us the volcanic fire 
which threatened our annihilation. 

We breathed more freely. 

Added to the fifty out of the two hundred of our 
brave boys now dead, was an equal number, more 


73 


or less wounded. It was now about six o’clock ; 
but we feared that in an hour darkness would set 
in, and render our position still more uncomfortable; 
for a ligh't breeze was fanning the flame of the 
burning timber back of us, and the glare would 
light up the place so that we would be picked out 
individually by riflemen on the fortifications, for 
which distinction we by no means hungered. 

As the sun went down, the fire which had been 
burning for five hours, gradually became less in- 
tense. A more hopeful feeling began to relieve our 
fears, but it did not continue long. 

That infernal machine in the bastion again 
opened fire on us with greater rapidity than be- 
fore. This time, it was accompanied with lighter 
guns which intensified its horrors. The long-haired 
gunner seemed to delight in his work. Bullets 
could not reach him, and he fired away as if he 
knew his own safety. We could not understand 
why he recommenced on us. We had had all the 
fighting we wanted that day, and only asked to 
be let alone. How devoutly we wished we had 
never left home ! 

But, unknown to us, the rest of the brigade were 
hard at work gathering hats, tin pans, canvas 


74 


buckets and all sorts of vessels. They had estab- 
lished a chain of soldiers to carry water from a 
spring near by to put out the fire, in order to make 
a passageway through the abattis. The enemy 
could see all this, but we could not. So, judge of 
our amazement and joy, when we saw a column of 
men, headed by T. W. Sherman, coming through 
what remained of the burning timber. The rem- 
nant of our small party arose in a moment, and 
joined the advancing columns. But, alas! not to 
go far, for the fire of the terrible gun, as well as 
that of the infantry, played havoc in our ranks, 
and we were unable to fill the vacancies made by 
the balls and shells. 

We fell back to our former position, and the first 
assault on Port Hudson was over. 

It was a failure, resulting in a bad defeat to our 
arms, with General T. W. Sherman, the leader of 
the charge, minus a leg — the work of the demon 
gun. One felt that he had lived ten years in those 
few hours. Many of our comrades of the morning 
were now cold in death. 


75 


CHAPTER III. 


AMELIA THE BRIDE. 

The next morning dawned beautifully. 

It was a bright, glorious summer da}^, and the 
golden sunshine upon the waters, the dewdrops on 
the glistening trees, and the song of the birds, were 
all in strange and strong contrast to the fire and 
smoke, shot and shell, and blood and death of the 
day before. Above was the beauty and peace of 
nature ; below, the ruin and desolation of man. 
Under the blue sky lay many a brave fellow, whose 
blood stained the green grass, and from the hastily 
improvised hospitals came sickening groans from the 
wounded. 

But war is war, and most of us had seen much 
of it by this time. 

Around the mess fires we breakfasted as best we 
could, drank our coffee and ate our bit of bacon 
and bread with the relish born of hard and terrible 
work. And many who, while eating, could not look 
up without seeing in the distance the body of some 


76 

poor fellow who had fallen in the struggle, doubt- 
less thought : 

“Maybe this is my last meal. I will do justice 
to it, such as it is.” 

Blighted love, crushed ambitions, costly defeats, 
a lost cause, may all darken a man^s life, but he is 
not utterly heart-broken as long as he can eat his 
dinner and relish doing it. This is humiliating, but, 
unfortunately, it is also true. 

Lighter thoughts soon fled at the approach of a 
sad and solemn duty. The sun was not very high 
when we sent a flag of truce to the Confederate 
general, asking for a cessation of hostilities for 
twenty-four hours, so that we might bury our dead. 
The request was granted, and then one of the most 
melancholy and distressing tasks that fall to the lot 
of a soldier, was begun. In the heat of action, the 
hot rush against the enemy, the excitement of the 
battle, one may note with a momentary pang that 
a comrade has fallen on the one side or the other; 
but it can be almost instantly forgotten, for there is 
work — urgent, terrible work — ahead. 

But when the field is gone over afterwards! Here 
you find one who was your “chum” — your most 
intimate friend — to whom you had told your dearest 


77 


secrets; who had talked to you of home, and told 
you to send word to his wife should he fall. And 
here lies one, a bullet through his heart, with 
whom yesterday you had angry words. It is with 
infinite relief you remember that an explanation 
and a hand-shake had made you friends again. 

We did the best we could in putting the poor 
fellows under the sod. The officers were, as is 
usual, placed in separate graves. Under the circum- 
stances, it was absolutely impossible to so bury all 
the dead. Trenches had to be dug for most of the 
men, but they were laid in them with decency and 
care. And whenever it was possible to obtain the 
names and the address of their relatives, by referring 
to letters and papers found in their pockets, it was 
always done, and the sad news was conveyed to 
their families by some one of the officers. When 
practicable, the graves were marked, and after the 
war, a number of the bodies so identified, were 
taken up, and removed to family burial grounds. 

Just as we were beginning the sad work, in fact 
before we had done more than make the prelimi- 
nary arrangements, the Confederates sent a request 
that we would allow the body of a young lady, an 
officer’s bride, who had been killed in the engage- 


78 


ment, to pass through the lines, for transfer to the 
home of her parents. Of course, the request was 
granted. 

It was not long before the funeral procession was 
seen advancing. Slowly it filed out from the sally- 
port of the redoubt, and with solemn march came 
nearer and nearer. As the little cortege reached 
our outposts, it was halted. 

The company was not a large one. 

Headed by a military band playing a solemn 
dirge, came a party of Confederate officers of differ- 
ent arms. Two ladies were with them. One of the 
officers, a young man about twenty-three or four 
years of age, walked with a firm and erect tread, 
but the convulsive working of his countenance 
showed that he was agonized with grief. The 
body was in an old musket box, rudely nailed 
down ; but there was a wild flower or two upon 
the improvised coffin, and a bit of green. The 
bearers were a detailed squad of Confederate sol- 
diers. The scene was one of the most touching 
and impressive I had ever witnessed. 

The cortege had scarcely halted, when a major of 
our headquarters’ staff rode up rapidly, and sud- 
denly threw himself from his horse. 


79 


“ I am sorry/’ he said abruptly, in a tone and 
manner somewhat brusque ; “ but I have a duty to 
perform. I must ask that the coffin be opened and 
searched for despatches that may possibly be con- 
cealed. You gentlemen, who, I see, are officers on 
the other side, will appreciate that in times of war 
such painful duties are inexorable.” 

They simply bowed in assent. 

But there was a movement of distress among all 
the spectators. One of the ladies was so much af- 
fected by this apparently cruel interruption, that her 
already over-wrought nerves seemed on the point 
of giving way. One of our surgeons hastily stepped 
forward, and revived her by the application of a 
little ammonia, a vial of which was fortunately in 
his pocket. She was the sister of the dead bride, 
and a mere girl scarcely eighteen. Her pale, satin 
complexion with a faint blush of pink just touching 
the exquisite skin, was so suggestive of the delicate 
tints of a tea-rose, that it seemed quite in keeping 
when the elder lady called her anxiously by that 
flower’s name. Her eyes were of a soft, dark hazel ; 
though small in stature, she was stately and dig- 
nified in demeanor, and most winsome withal. When 
she regained consciousness, she turned one slight 


8o 


glance of gratitude upon the Doctor, bowed, and 
re.sumed her place. 

Slowly the nails were withdrawn from the lid of 
the musket box, one by one, and with great diffi- 
culty, as the appliances at hand were naturally of 
the rudest description. The mourners bore this 
harrowing delay with a self control almost heroic ; 
the young officer never stirred — only his violently 
clenched hands betrayed the keen torture he was 
undergoing. 

When the lid was at last raised, there lay the 
form of one of the most beautiful women I have 
ever seen. She seemed to be scarcely twenty, but 
her figure was fully developed, and her face was 
of surpassing loveliness. The hair was blue-black, 
and remarkably 'abundant; her complexion even 
thetl of the deep rich olive tint of the far South ; 
the eyelashes long and curving upward, the eye- 
brows arched most perfectly ; cherry lips, a classic 
nose, a broad forehead, tiny, pink-tinted ears like 
pearly shells, and a little hand that was a marvel 
of delicacy and beauty. 

Her eyes, alas! were closed — in death. 

On her hand was a wedding ring. Her shroud 
was a , plain white dress, sadly eloquent of her 


8i 


bridal, and on her bosom lay a faded wreath of 
orange blossoms. 

So young — so fair — so soon cut off from life, love 
and happiness — ah, it was pitiful! 

There were signs of emotion on all sides. 

The Major himself — brusque as he was and hard- 
ened by nature — turned aside for a moment as the 
young officer came quickly forward and pressed one 
passionately tender kiss on the cold, calm, face step- 
ping back instantly and standing upright, with 
folded arms and hat lowered over his brows. The 
repression of his grief, as if it was too sacred a 
thing to bare to stranger eyes, was more pathetic 
than its unrestrained display, and so we all felt it. 

“It is hard, but it must be done,” said the staff 
officer, in a tone of husky irritation. “The coffin 
must be searched.” 

One of the ladies, with admirable nerve, pleaded 
that she and the lady with her might lift the body 
while the examination was being made. 

There could be no reply but the simple “ yes.” 

Kvery corner of the musket box was searched, 
every fold of the dress; but delicately and rever- 
ently. It was with a sigh of relief that the anxious 


82 


onlookers heard that all was right — the body might 
proceed. 

While the slow work of nailing down the lid 
once more was progressing, I asked one of the Con- 
federates who she was. 

Looking significantly at the flag of truce, he 
moved away without reply. 

I quietly approached another of his party, and, 
whispering, repeated the question — in* French this 
time, for he looked to me like a French Creole. 

He answered, also under his breath: “Donh you 
know? It’s the wife of the gunner who served 
Lady Davis.” 

“ Who is Lady Davis ? What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

“The big gun over there,” he hurriedly said, and 
he pointed to the Demon Gun of the day before. 
“ I should think you had cause enough to know 
her.” 

This, and what I learned afterwards from pris- 
oners, explained the fiendish ferocity of the gunner. 

When the box was again securely closed, it was 
placed in one of our ambulances. 

The Confederates were about to return to their 
works when the young officer stepped forward, and 
in a firm but sad voice, asked : 


83 


“Is there any one here in authority who could 
allow me passage through your lines to the boat 
which is to carry my wife away from me? The 
sun is yet very young for the day.” 

He looked every inch a man. His appeal was 
beautiful and tender, and, with the pleading of the 
two ladies, it was too much for the commanding 
officer. 

Permission was granted. 

He and both of the ladies were then blindfolded, 
that they might see nothing of our preparations. 
The dead girl’s fair young sister, with the Doctor, 
on whose arm she lightly leaned, as a guide, led 
the mournful procession ; following her was the 
gunner ; on each side of him a guard to guide his 
footsteps. At the steamer the bandages were re- 
moved. And when he returned, still under escort, 
his eyes were covered with a handkerchief again 
until he had passed still guarded, to his own out- 
posts, all the while under the protection of the flag 
of truce, and through the extraordinary kindnesses 
extended to him by the commanding officers and 

those who, under orders, were with him. 

\ 

When the river bank was reached, the remains 
were placed upon the steamer Iberville and taken 


84 


to New Orleans, accompanied by the two ladies 
and a special guard from our corps. From New 
Orleans, they were removed later to her husband’s 
plantation on the Bayou Teche. 

It was a most affecting incident, and one which 
all who were present have oftentimes recalled in 
the years since then ; yet, soldier-like, an hour 
after the steamer had left the bank, we were swap- 
ping ’’ coffee for tobacco with the Johnny Rebs, 
and exchanging newspapers with them, and towards 
the close of the twenty-four hours of truce, every 
few minutes we would be scurrying back into 
positions of safety ; for the Confederates amused ' 
themselves by placing a lot of cartridges along their 
line of parapets, and lighting them with matches. 

The flash and smoke would make the boys be- 
lieve that the truce was ended, and firing ' had 
recommenced. 

There was no lack of courage on either side, but 
the men didn’t by any manner of means wish to 
be taken unawares. 

There was a touching pathos in the romance of 
the gunner of “Lady Davis” and his bride of three 
happy but fateful weeks. 


I 


85 

He was a young sugar planter, handsome, brave 
and accomplished, inheriting from his father large 
estates. The plantations next to his own were 
owned by an old gentleman, whose eldest daughter, 
Amelia, became in the days of her youth, the object 
of the affection, deep and earnest, of the young 
neighbor. 

There was no obstacle to their meetings until 
just before the war commenced. Then Alphonse 
Dubreuil pronouncedly opposed the doctrine of seces- 
sion. His prospective father-in-law. Dr. Chatrand, 
was an earnest advocate of state’s rights, and every 
thing thereunto appertaining. While the young 
man always declared he would follow his state, he 
persisted that it would be foolish for it to go out 
of the Union. 

In the course of a discussion between the two, 
there were some warm words one day, and Alphonse 
was forbidden to communicate with Amelia. 

When the state joined the seceded Confederation, 
he went at once into the army as a private, raised 
as much money as he could to equip a company, 
and worked unflinchingly with admirable courage. 
Besides his chosen cause, Amelia and her father 
were his only thought. 


86 


Little by little, the father .softened. 

Finally, he consented to the marriage. It was 
solemnized in Port Hudson only three weeks before 
the engagement of which I have spoken. All 
ceremony and festivity possible under the circum- 
stances graced the occasion. There were uniforms 
and dresses, tasteful, if not costly in the eyes of 
to-day. 

He was the proudest man of all along the river ; 
she, the happiest bride. 

His wedding made a gala day in Port Hudson. 
Every one who could be present was there. The 
feast was not such a one as former times would 
have spread, but it was notwithstanding, a pleasant 
and enjoyable entertainment, and after the wedding 
dinner, there were horse and foot races, target 
shooting and sports of all kinds for the gallant 
soldier boys, who turned aside for some happy 
hours from the grim realities of war, to do honor 
to their comrade’s young and lovely bride. 

When the attack came, he took charge of the gun. 
It has been shown how wonderfully he managed 
it. There were skill and stern determination with 
him from first to last. His wife watched him with 
anxiety and with terror ; but these feelings were 


87 


suppressed in his presence, and he was always, 
greeted with a smile when he could find time to 
join her for a few moments. The “ Gray Horse 
Battery” of Vermont, was brought up and opposed 
to the guns of the enemy — or, rather, the gun. Its 
work was effective. Considerable execution was 
done. But the most terrible thing it accomplished 
was the killing of the wife of Alphonse, the gunner 
of Lady Davis. 

She had been as near as was permitted to her 
husband. Her natural fears, the horrors around her, 
could not drive her from his side. She had not left 
the town, but insisted upon being allowed to stay 
in the fort near her husband’s gun, passionately 
refusing safety away from him. At last, consent 
was given for her to occupy one of the bomb-proofs. 
Here she was comparatively safe;, but on this day 
she became excited by the sound of the firing and 
the cheers of the men, and rushed out to see if her 
husband was still untouched. 

A fragment of shell from one of the Vermont 
battery’s guns struck her, and with his dear name 
faltering on her lips, she fell dead before his eyes. 

The wretched husband rushed to her, but all was 
over in an instant. Maddened by his loss, he rose 


88 


from the body of his murdered bride and sprang to 
his gun, anguish and despair driving him to a 
fierce vengeance for her death. Then it was that 
the gyn turned from the direction of our unfortu- 
nate little squad, and aimed at once against the 
Vermont battery. 

Speedily a section was dismantled, and a num- 
ber of the gunners were killed. It was revenge, 
deep and bitter, and a smile came over the pale 
face of the young man as each discharge told. We 
could not but honor his valor, and when he came 
with the body of the young wife within our lines, 
and we discovered who he was, there was no one 
of us who did not silently respect his grief. 

With the shadows of war are the brighter facts 
of occasional sunshine. Romance touches tragedy. 
In the course of that funeral procession was born 
an affection that survived the vicissitudes of war. 
The young surgeon who gave the ammonia to the 
young lady and guided her out of the lines, did 
not forget her sweet, sad face. 

A year or two after hostilities had ceased, he 
returned to that part of the country and settled 
there. His intention from the first was to find her, 
and, if possible, to win her. 


89 


After many anxious days, he succeeding in dis- 
covering the lady of his love. 

It was much longer before he could win her con- 
sent to a marriage with him, and longer still before 
her relatives could be persuaded to acquiesce ; but 
finally it was accomplished, and from what I have 
heard recently, they are living most happily on a 
lovely little estate, and laying in stores of love and 
wealth — the one very largely, the other moderately 
but satisfactorily. 





A SACRED TRUST 


CHAPTER I. 


A CORPSE AND A SYMBOE. 

It was Christmas Day, 1862. 

We were in New Orleans, that most interesting- 
of Southern cities. The year had nearly run its 
course ; the festivities of the festival of festivals 
were approaching their height, and still the air was 
black and horrible from the smoke of battle for 
hundreds and hundreds of miles, and in a thousand 
places the earth was stained with the blood of 
brave men ; but in the midst of that most holy 
feast, for a while, even the hardest hearts forgot the 
bitterness of civil conflict and rejoiced in the day 
and its quieting influences. There were few among 
the most daring, brave and reckless of our men 
whose thoughts during that soft Southern afternoon 
did not turn back to the lessons of home and of 


92 


the church, recalling the story of the birth of Him 
who came to save the world, to bring peace to 
earth, good will to mankind. And many a soldier 
bowed a knee to the ground, and prayed to Him 
that out of all this turmoil and trouble, good might 
come — good for all the people. 

Regimental church services are always peculiarly 
solemn in time of war, but those we held at the 
Lower Cotton Press were remarkably impressive. 
The holy feast, the yearning for home, intensified 
by the uncertainty of the morrow — all combined to 
elevate the soul in prayer to Him, the Man of Sor- 
row's, who was born to suffer for the sins of 
mankind. 

But suddenly were heard the- clear notes of the 
bugle. Then came instant hurry and movement, 
the clanking of spurs, and before long, the beat of 
the drum. 

“Officers to quarters,” was the bugle’s summons, 
and at once military discipline taught the men of the 
command now to regard their regimental flag, as does 
the devotee the spire of his church. Instead of the 
chime of the bells or the grand tones of the organ, 
their music was the rattle of the drum and the 
bugle blast, and instead of the appealing voice of 


93 


the minister, they listened to the sharp command of 
superior officers. 

The first order received read, “Hold your regi- 
ment in readiness to march at a moment’s notice.” 

Thirty minutes afterwards came a second order : 
“ Take knapsacks and proceed to the Lake House, 
Lake Ponchartrain. There you will find further 
instructions.” 

This looked like warfare. But where ? It was 
all decidedly indefinite, and this very fact added to 
its effect upon the men. No one knew what was 
in store for us. 

On one point, however, we were unanimous. We 
were sorry to leave New Orleans. 

Those were happy days in the Crescent City, and 
even now we look back with pride and satisfaction 
to the peaceful record we left behind us ; for during 
our occupation of the city there was not so much 
as a street fight to mar the tranquillity and to 
break the ties of esteem which drew the soldiers to 
the citizens. . We had made many friends among 
the warm-hearted and hospitable people since we 
had been the safe martial guardians of the city’s 
peace, and outside of our military duties, we found 
time and opportunity to cultivate a social fondness 


94 


for those over whom we were for the time placed 
in authority. It was a sad duty to say good-bye to 
these friends and to the comfortable quarters which 
we had decorated for the holiday season. All 
expectations of a pleasant Christmas week were 
swept away, and only regrets were left. The orders 
had come and obedience followed. 

The next morning found our men in line, ready 
to march from a happy past and an enjoyable 
present to an unknowm future. 

The command, ‘ ‘ Forward,’’ sounded, and the 
Duryee Zouaves, One Hundred and Sixty-fifth New 
York Volunteers, marching, as they always did, 
with almost faultless step, moved from the barracks. 
Along the Levee they went, while hundreds of 
citizens stood along the line eagerly watching their 
advance. They reached the Esplanade, proceeded 
by way of Carondelet street to Canal street, and 
then with fervent good-byes and a good swinging 
step, they were off to Lake Ponchartrain. The sin- 
gle tune that the band played on this bright and 
cheerful morning was “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” 
and the spirits of the soldiers chimed gaily in with 
the melody of the song. The scene of departure 
reminded me strongly of the time when a party of 


95 


the same regiment— the Duryee Zouaves— left Balti- 
more to join McClellan’s army on the Peninsula. 

The distance of seven to eight miles to the Lake 
House, on Lake Ponchartrain, was easily traversea 
in a few hours. 

There we bivouacked until the next morning. 

The sealed orders proved to be instructions to 
proceed and explore the Dismal Swamp region of 
the lake, and to investigate the condition of the 
railroad which for dozens of miles runs through 
that region of mud, bayous and alligators, on noth- 
ing but trestle-works and bridges. In the course of 
this investigation, we were to push forward until 
we had fully ascertained if there was any large 
body of Confederates in that locality. 

It was a hazardous expedition, but our men were 

\ 

generally ambitious for adventure, and they entered 
upon the task before them with a firm determination 
to do their duty bravely and well. 

It was a beautiful evening. Over the rippling 
surface of the lake the camp fires sent a flickering 
light, which the waves caught up and broke into a 
thousand glittering fragments, flashing and dancing 
with such a graceful confusion of brilliant effect, 


96 


that the men contemplated the scene with more 
than ordinary appreciation. 

A sound night’s sleep in the open field left every 
one refreshed and invigorated for the work that was 
to follow. 

The whole regiment embarked at early morning 
in five small schooners that had been sent for its 
transportation. These vessels were towed by a little 
tug of the slow-but-sure species. The five schoon- 
ers, crowded with soldiers, followed one another 
consecutively, being attached together by ropes, 
while at the head the small but energetic tug 
fretted away, belching out clouds of smoke, and 
frantically but slowly pulling along the big load 
behind it. No wind was blowing, and the sails 
were not hoisted, so that all progress depended 
upon the efforts of the tug. 

The trip was exceedingly agreeable. The day 
was clear, the atmosphere pleasant, and every 
delight of sky and water mingled with the far-away 
fringes of brilliant forests to please the imaginative 
and scenery-loving members of the party. 

The spirits of the men soon rose to the highest 
pitch, and they abandoned themselves with almost 
boyish zest to all sorts of antics and diversions. 


97 


The band was made to play its liveliest tunes, and 
the clowns and funny men of the regiment were 
compelled to go through their tricks, surrounded by 
crowds of attentive admirers. Fired by their success 
others attempted more daring feats. Over one of 
the tightly drawn ropes connecting the schooners, a 
venturesome soldier decided to cross. His success 
at first was excellent; but as he reached the middle 
there was a moment of indecision ; one leg went 
into the air and gracefully poised, the other slipped, 
and — 

“ Man overboard ! ’ ’ 

He was fished out of the lake amidst great 
laughter, and he at once proceeded to make a 
clothes-line of the schooner’s rigging, in order to 
dry his soaked uniform. 

Tight-rope walking was left out of the program 
of entertainment after this experience, but the soli- 
tary debut made plenty of fun, and the dripping 
hero was warmly pressed for an encore. 

With such light hearts did we face an expedition 
that all knew teemed with dangers, some of them 
even unknown. 

The distance across the lake to Pass Man Chac 
was about thirty miles. 


98 


We reached the entrance of the pass in the after- 
noon. There the commanding officer left the main 
body of the regiment in charge of the schooners, 
and with thirty picked men proceeded in the tug 
up the bayou to where the railroad crossed the 
stream. 

It was not an attractive neighborhood. 

Everywhere the surroundings showed a desolate 
country, destitute of every sign of human habitation. 

The land was a tangled growth of swamp}^ vege- 
tation, whose foliage, so deeply colored and so dense, 
seemed to emit poisonous vapors and contagious 
diseases. The gloomy waters of the bayou and the 
tributary creeks w^ere sluggish and full of decayed 
weeds and leaves. 

As the tug made its way up the stream, birds of 
beautiful plumage flitted from the trees and soared 
clamorously in the air, as if some monster had 
invaded their home. 

But it was in the waters that the most interesting 
part of swamp life was to be seen. 

Alligators by the thousand abounded everywhere. 
The noise of the boat aroused them . from their 
sleep. They stretched their long heads out of the 
water, peered for a moment at the strangers, and 


99 


then disappeared. Those on shore gave several 
barks, moved uneasily away and joined their rela- 
tives in the muddy depths of the bayou. On every 
side, wherever the eye reached, alligators were 
visible. They are not handsome reptiles, and the 
denizens of this swamp had their full share of 
ugliness. Their dirty appearance, their muddy-look- 
ing forms, their sullen eyes, all repelled, and as 
they were congregated thickly in these dismal 
depths, the picture was about as odious as the 
imagination could well conceive. 

The contrast between the clean, broad streets and 
happy life of New Orleans, and the venomous- 
looking morasses teeming with savage animals of 
the sw^amps, seemed like a dream of Hades after the 
happiness of heaven. 

When our little party reached the railroad bridge, 
we found that it had been destroyed. 

We at once began a reconnoissance of our sur- 
roundings. No human being except ourselves was 
in sight. 

Six of us went to the east. 

We had proceeded — or rather waded — scarcely a 
quarter of a mile through the pools and treacherous 


lOO 


bogs of the swamp before we came upon a tract of 
dry land, perhaps a half acre in extent, raised 
several feet above the surrounding ground. An 
immense swarm of alligators almost literally covered 
it. To scare them away the men fired several 
shots, and immediately the animals with all possible 
haste made for a lagoon near by, with a general 
chorus of rasping barks. We hurried along to get 
out of the damp bogs upon the dry ground, when 
suddenly the man in the lead exclaimed : 

“ Great Heavens ! what is that ? ” 

There was, indeed, cause, and a fearful cause, for 
astonishment! 

Upon a mound of earth lay the partially devoured 
body of a man. He was lying on his back. The 
mouldering flesh had nearly all gone, but that 
remaining sent out such an odor that the men could 
hardly overcome their disgust sufficiently to approach 
the body. 

The sight was horrible beyond anything we had 
ever seen. 

Men who had stood unflinchingly the carnage of 
battle turned away sickened from the loathsome 
thing. The jagged pieces of flesh barely adhering 


lOI 


to the bones, and the ghastly, half-eaten face, too 
dreadfully explained the attraction that drew the 
alligators to the place. An alligator never eats raw 
flesh ; it kills its victim and lays it aside until the 
flesh has decayed. Then it enjoys a royal meal. 

As soon as we could, we examined the bod3^ 

The right arm extending upwards, showed the 
hand tightly clasped. Around the left forefinger 
was a gold ring, and thinking it would lead to his 
identification, we pulled it off. As we did so, a 
piece of paper fell from the closed hand. Only 
these few words were decipherable : 

‘‘ Lost in the swamp ! Oh ! what a horrible death 
for a soldier to die ! Would to — ” 

That was all. 

In the gold ring was inscribed: “’Till death do 
us part ! ” 

The fragments of his uniform proved that he had 
been in the Confederate service. From one of the 
pockets a soldier pulled a small package, bound 
with twine, to its top fastened a gold signet which 
had previously done service as a watch charm. The 
only inscription was the hurriedly written words: 


102 


“ For my wife.’’ The symbol upon the charm 
resembled the following : 



Each man examined it carefully, wondering what 
it meant. 

“I’ll break it open and see what’s inside,” said 
the commanding officer, proceeding to suit the 
action to the word. 

“For Heaven’s sake, don’t do that!’’ exclaimed 
the officer next in command. 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Because that is a Masonic emblem. This man 
was a Mark Mason. This seal is a ‘Dead Man’s 
Mark.’ The trust it imposes is sacred. I accept it. 
Nobody must open this seal except the wife to 
whom it is addressed ; I promise you that it con- 
tains nothing improper. I am bound by all the ties 
of Masonry to care for it, and to deliver it to the 


103 


right person, if she can anywhere be found. You 
will then see why I object to your breaking it.” 

The officer thought for awhile, and said : 

“ I suppose you are right. I will trust to your 
word.” 

With hearts aching with pity for the poor victim 
of the fatal swamp, we dug a rough grave, and 
honored his remains with such burial as lay within 
our power. 


CHAPTER II. 


AN IMPORTANT CAPTURE. 

Shortly after sundown our exploring parties met 
at the demolished railroad bridge. We then went 
back on the tug to the place where we had left the 
schooners and the men. 

The day’s work had resulted in few developments, 
and even these were overshadowed by our strange 
discovery. 

In the general opinion the man was a scout who. 
had wandered away without keeping a record of 


104 


his path, until, at last, bewilderment and hunger 
overcame him. 

His fate added to our own depression. We 
became convinced that the countr}^ in which our 
operations were to be based, was a perfect Pandora- 
box of horrors and unpleasant surprises. In this, 
we were by no means mistaken. 

After a good sleep on the boats, we were up 
before sunrise next morning, ready for the expe- 
dition. 

A strange scene it was at that hour. 

The bird-life in the bushes and evergreen entan- 
glements had begun to make itself heard. In the 
distance around the lake, the great noisy herons 
showed the beautiful plumage of their richly colored 
wings. Scaup-ducks whistled merrily through the 
air. The foul looking snake-birds dashed headlong 
into stagnant lagoons, and went through every 
possible gymnastic evolution, twisting themselves 
into a thousand ludicrous contortions, and doing 
everything but skinning themselves alive. Cranes, 
loo, with their elongated necks, stalked about with 
as much dignity as if they were bossing ever}' 
. biped within a radius of a hundred miles. Birds of 
every hue, from the somber crow to the gaily 


105 

bedecked woodpecker and brilliantly tufted king- 
fisher, were on hand, singing away as if there was 
a rehearsal of some bird oratorio. And all the 
while, the rusty noses of the ever-present alligators 
protruded from the water to sniff the morning air, 
and see what the prospects were for a first-class 
breakfast. As the regiment progressed to the rail- 
road, every turn revealed some new feature of the 
curious life that made the swamp region so weird 
and disheartening. 

Our path of progress was over the trestle work 
of the railroad. 

For miles and miles through this country, the 
road is one continuous bridge, and our only footing 
w^as railroad ties. At first the men advanced slowly, 
not being used to that method of procedure ; but 
after practice, they grew accustomed to it, and went 
along as well as could be expected. 

The same dismal swamp encompassed us. 

All along were stagnant-looking creeks and great 
pools of dark brown water, fringed about by fantas- 
tic jungles and vegetation of the most peculiar 
richness. Occasionally there were dry spots of land, 
upon which were congregated snakes and alligators 
and hideous looking reptiles that glided in and out 


io6 

of their hiding places, and sunned themselves upon 
the decayed logs and cypress trees. The pesky 
moccasions seemed to abound everywhere. They 
nestled on tussocks, writhed among the tangled 
roots of trees, and some even rested upon the 
railroad ties, lapping their red, forked tongues as 
they slid back into the “ water upon the near 
approach of the soldiers. 

But these were mere trifles compared with the 
great forests of white cypress that towered heaven- 
wards on every side and made the region a place 
of gloom by their dark unwholesome foliage. 
Pendant from nearly every limb were immense 
festoons of the famous Spanish moss. Nothing 
could be more fantastic than the growth of this 
lichen. It assumes every conceivable shape. It 
droops like curtains, enlaces the tree branches, and 
tortures the dark cypresses into quaint and grotesque 
forms. After it has enveloped every portion of the 
trunk, it flnishes its work by killing the tree. The 
appearance of miles and miles of this moss hanging 
from the trees, gives additional solemnity to the 
swamp scenery. Eccentric and w’himsical in its 
arrangement, a thousand fanciful pictures can be 
traced from its wonderful draperies. 


The soldiers noticed them with increasing curiosity. 

One pointed out a cypress that looked like a 
dragon. Another discovered a tree which resembled a 
wild buffalo. Another showed us a broad festoon of 
moss that bore a similarity to an unplucked bed 
quilt ; while yet another, more classical than the 
rest, declared that he saw the three witches of 
Macbeth enlarged to the size of cypress trees, rigged 
out in outlandish dresses of moss, and with their 
leafless branches outstretched like uncanny arms, 
showering horrible curses upon all who came within 
their shadow. The atmosphere seemed to breathe 
the same spirit of hideousness that was seen in the 
landscape. Everywhere the view was ghost-like and 
cheerless. 

The boys prodded along in silence that was 
seldom broken. 

Eess than a week before they had been as gay 
and light hearted as if they were departing on a 
holiday excursion. Now they were grave, solemn, 
depressed. Joyousness seemed as much out of place 
amid such surroundings as laughter at a funeral. 
The dolefulness of the swamp was as a wet blanket 
on all festivity. Whenever an occasional laugh 
broke forth, the echoes took it up and hurled it 


io8 


back as if in mockery, startling the laugher back 
into gloom again. 

Everything was suggestive of death. 

The muddy depths were convenient graves, ready 
always for a corpse ; the mosses were funeral 
shrouds, and the music of the trees was a prolonged 
dirge — like the moan of a departed spirit. The 
land was hung in perpetual mourning. When 
Dante wandered in his imaginative Inferno he 
might have seen something that resembled it ; but 
even his master fancy could hardly have conjured 
up anything that far excels the distorted realities 
contained in those thousands and thousands of acres 
of the Louisiana swamp. 

The railroad was cut here and there by bayous 
or channels, varying from twenty-five to fifty feet in 
width. 

All of them were deep enough to navigate light 
draught vessels. Nearly everyone of the bridges 
formerly spanning these creeks was destroyed ; but 
the destruction had been hurriedly done, and, while 
it answered all purposes to prevent a locomotive 
from passing over them, we were fortunate enough 
to be able, with the help of fallen timber, to repair 
the damages sufficiently for our own crossing. We 


109 


had with us two light mountain howitzers. These 
were dismounted, and the various sections entrusted 
to different parties of men, eight soldiers generally 
transporting each section. By distributing the 
burden among the command, and by a system of 
relief, very little inconvenience was experienced 
from the heavy implements of war. 

We felt no fear of being flanked. The country 
was too impenetrable. 

The command was, therefore, divided into three 
sections. The advance guard consisted of two 
strong companies of about one hundred and fifty 
men. Its duties w^ere to open the march and repair 
as much of the road as was necessary for the safe 
carrying of the guns and provisions. These were in 
charge of the main body, composed of four hundred 
men, with a rear guard of one hundred picked 
soldiers. The immense labor involved in the march 
can be conceived when it is known that everything 
was moved by man power over a road of ties which 
stretched continuously to a distance of fifteen miles. 

Every hour deepened the melancholy silence that 
settled on the men, but in spite of gloomy 
forebodings, they did their work like soldiers. 


no 


We had traversed between four and five miles, 
when we came to a sudden turn in the road. 
About a dozen of the men had filed out of sight 
in the new direction, when all at once the sharp 
report of a volley of musketry drove the small 
squad back, carrying with them one of the number, 
the first victim of the enemy’s bullets. 

The peculiar formation of the forests made the 
sharp volley’s echo come back to us from so many 
points, that it seemed as if we were attacked by a 
whole brigade of infantry. 

We saw at once that extraordinary tactics were 
demanded. 

“ Off with your cartridge belts, men,” shouted 
the officer, “ and hang them around your necks ! 
Keep the locks of your rifles and your powder dry, 
and follow me.” 

No further order was necessary. iVlmost instantly 
into the green, dirty, nauseous swamp mud, the 
hundred and fifty men of the advance guard 
plunged. 

Oh, what a terrible bath it was! Up to the 
waists in water, and fearful odors arising to the 
nostrils at every step. 


Ill 


The hard-packed sand bottoms of the shallow 
lagoons gave us our principal footing, but the roots 
of the trees and the tangled, swampy undergrowth 
tripped the men and impeded progress. But every 
man was in dead earnest for a fight. The Confede- 
rates had killed one of our men and wounded two 
others. The boys were eager to repay them for 
that deed. 

With all our haste, we were instructed to keep 
well in sight of the trestle-work, lest some of us 
might be lost. We soon reached the bend of the 
road where our skirmishers had received such a 
warm reception. 

Six or eight hundred yards away, from twenty- 
five to thirty men stood upon the railroad. Our 
first idea was to flank and capture them, and with 
that aim in view, our advance made a detour to 
head them off, to prevent their sending an alarm to 
their comrades, and to let them fall upon the main 
bodyi 

The plan worked admirably. 

In a short time they seemed perfectly bewildered 
to find themselves surrounded. Assured of our 
capture, we waited for them to throw the butts of 
their muskets in the air as a sign of non-resistance, 


II2 


when to onr great amazement, the whole party took 
to their heels and ran as if they were on terra firma. 

At first it w^as most puzzling, but in a minute we 
saw that it indicated a new danger. We pressed 
forward with all possible haste, and when we 
reached the spot where they had stood a few seconds 
previously, we found a large rough platform, with 
a rude hut bearing the crudely painted sign 



\ ALLIGATOR STATION. I 



No doubt about the alligators, but the station, 
what was it for? 

“ There’s a vessel ! ” exclaimed one of the men. 

“ Where?” 

“ Through the trees there. Don’t you see the 
masts ? ” 

Sure enough, through the small opening the masts 
were visible. We immediately ran in that direction. 
We had gone scarce half of the distance when we 
discovered a fleet of four schooners, all loaded with 
cotton. The crews — the same men who had fired 
upon our advance — were hard at work cutting the 


4 


vessels loose from the moorings, so as to get them 
from our reach. But they were too late. A half- 
hundred muskets leveled at their heads stopped 
their labors. The schooners remained at the 
wharves. 

When we reached the boats, we saw that they 
were flying English flags. 

As we attempted to board them, the crews 
claimed British protection, and remonstrated at our 
action ; but the ruse was too transparent. We put 
the men under arrest, and took charge of the fleet. 

This capture was more valuable than at first 
appears. 

It broke up a most important transportation 
service. It was evident that trains loaded with 
cotton were running from Jackson and Ponchatoula 
to Alligator Station, near which ran a navigable 
bayou. The cotton was reloaded on the fleet of 
schooners. Then the boats proceeded out of the 
bayou, across Eake Ponchartrain, and at night 
slipped out through the sound, landing the cotton 
at Port Eouis or Mobile, whence it was shipped on 
blockade-runners to Europe. This was one of the 
main sources that supplied the South with revenue^ 


and for that reason our capture was one of great 
importance. 

Indeed, it is hard to estimate its full value in 
dollars and cents, for it cut off a means of supply 
which had been the chief support of an extensive 
inland region. 


CHAPTER III. 


A WOMAN AND A WIFE. 

We proceeded no further that day. 

Our exploit had entitled us to rest, and our wearied 
forms much preferred the peace of Alligator Station 
to the tiresome work of skipping over railroad ties. 
We were hoping, too, that the train from Jackson 
might bring more cotton. Pickets were placed so 
as to make our position safe. 

Our men were tired and they wanted comfort. 
They got as much as the disagreeable country would 
permit. The station platform Was thronged. Bales 
of cotton placed on land gave many accommodation. 


The officers boarded the schooners. Several of us 
mixed with the captured crews, intending to obtain 
from them all the information we could about the 
country, the character of the region ahead of us, 
and the force of Confederate soldiers in the vicinity. 

But our prisoners did not seem to think such 
knowledge improving to the charms of our mutual 
converse, although they were too polite to say so 
directly, and delicately avoided brushing the bloom 
off our Northern innocence with a premature ac- 
quaintance with Southern wiles. There was none of 
that childlike confidence about them that one would 
expect to meet in the children of such a wilderness 
as we had struck. Between what we had discovered 
and what we wanted to find out, lay a yawning gulf, 
banked only with cotton bales, but unpleasantly 
suggestive of not unmixed evils in the shape of 
sharpshooters and alligators. 

In vain our utmost ingenuity tried to bridge it. 
The answers to our questions were politely but in- 
directly made by a single fellow of evident intel- 
ligence and shrewdness of character. All the cross 
examining failed to draw him out. He made no 
point blank refusals, but by a system of ingenious 
evasion, he got around every question put to him. 


ii6 

“ Who is the commander of the schooners ? ’’ was 
asked. 

“We have no commander. But pray, gentlemen,, 
would you like to try some of our alligator soup ? ’’ 

This queston, like Hamlet’s dreams, gave us pause* 
We had no doubt that on our arrival the com- 
mander had ceased to be, but the unexpected invi- 
tation coupled with the announcement of his non- 
existence rather surprised us. It sounded slightly 
unconnected, or if connection there was, the infer- 
ence was a little too gruesome for a Christian coun- 
try. But the speaker interrupted harrowing reflec- 
tions on the probable commander’s fate, by repeating 
his invitation to taste their alligator soup. 

“Alligator soup ! ” we exclaimed. 

“Yes, gentlemen, alligator soup. One of our men 
had just made some before we heard you coming* 
You’ll find it in one of the forward lockers. Will 
you permit the cook to bring it out ? ” 

The permission was instantly granted, for we 
wanted to know something about it. We were not 
inclined from what we had seen of these unpre- 
possessing reptiles to credit them with any 
tenderness, or to look upon the ugly things as 
sweet enough to eat. Our Northern imaginations 


were not vivid enough for that. But as our bill 
•of fare was limited, and our appetites did not 
match, we concluded to try the fashionable dish of 
the swamp. 

It came, we saw, and it conquered. In fact it 
pleasantly surprised us. It looked the counterpart 
of a dish of ox-tail soup, and for the time we re- 
fused to believe otherwise. 

“ How do you make this stuff? ” an officer in- 
quired. 

“ Easy enough,’’ replied the cook. “ We ketch 
alligators that are young and tender and fat enough 
for eatin’. Then we cut their tails off and make 
soup out of ’em jest as we would out of anything 
else. We throw away all the alligator but the tail. 
That’s the best part of him.” 

As an experiment we tasted it. The first sip led 
to a second and so on. In fact, we discovered that 
it was far from being a bad kind of soup. The 
process by which it was made soon became known, 
and inside the two days we remained at that place, 
every member of the company had Alligator Tail 
Soup on its bill-of-fare, and at the meals where it 
was served the monotony of comparing soldiers’ 
stories was varied by discussing alligators’ tails. 


ii8 

Our first night in the depths of a swamp which 
had inspired us so gloomily through the day with 
its horrors, was a peculiar one. 

After darkness settled, the shades of the tall 
cypresses were more somber from the contrast they 
made with the cloudless sky over head. It was a 
place where one naturally felt afraid, where the 
very atmosphere seemed uncanny — the night full of 
creepy apprehensions of weird, unknown terrors 
Many of the soldiers would not even have ventured 
to go to sleep had not their wearied muscles 
demanded the refreshment that only sound slumber 
can give. 

So weariness of body conquered uneasiness of 
spirit ; at any rate, the boys all woke up the next 
morning much invigorated by the rest they had 
received. 

It was decided to bivouac at Alligator Station a 
day or two longer until we obtained full informa- 
tion of the country. The prisoners had failed to 
enlighten us, and we had to depend upon our own 
efforts for the intelligence desired. In addition, 
therefore, to inspecting the track, we determined to 
send two men, one to the right and one to the left 
of the railroad, with orders to proceed through the 


swamp as far as safety would permit. As usual^ 
on duties of this kind, volunteers were called for. 
At once two of the bravest and most promising 
non-commissioned officers stepped forward. Their 
names were : 

Corporal F. Nixon, of Company A. 

Sergeant L* Gibson, of Company H. 

The command prepared them well for their peril- 
ous undertaking. They were supplied with com- 
passes, firearms and food. Stringent instructions 
were given them to use the wisest discretion, and 
keep a strict account of the distances traveled, so as 
not to lose themselves in the swamp. 

They were ordered not to stay away later than 
sundown. 

Both men were ambitious, and zealous to achieve 
success in their missions. They departed amid the 
cheers of their comrades. Nixon had to cross the 
bayou on a boat that belonged to one of the 
schooners. He was given Godspeed, and counseled 
not to let the night overtake him under any circum- 
stances. Gibson, to all appearance, had a much 
better country to survey ; but the departure of both 
men caused feelings of distrust throughout the regi- 
ment. Their fate was very uncertain. 


120 


It was a busy day with us. 

Small detachments were despatched up and down 
the road on reconnoitering expeditions. The schoon- 
ers had to be cared for, and the cotton arranged 
so as to prevent damage from moisture. 

Our prisoners submitted gracefully to their cap- 
tivity. Two of them were mainly employed through 
the day in giving instructions to our cooks about 
the proper way to make alligator tail soup. Forag- 
ing parties invaded the habitations of these animals, 
and captured all the young and tender ones they 
could. As a consequence the whole command dined 
on the soup made from their savory tails. 

The time passed much more rapidly than we had 
expected. In the late afternoon the detachment 
sent out, began to return with vivid accounts of 
what they had seen. They encountered almost 
•everything except a human being. 

The last party to arrive was that sent to the east 
over the trestle-work yet undiscovered by us. and 
still an unknown world. About an hour before 
sundown a soldier descried them approaching. They 
were yet a good distance away, and indistinctly 
visible in the shadows of the forest. An officer 
looked at them through his field-glass. He studied 


12 


them intently for a moment, and then suddenly 
broke forth — 

“By Jove, what’s that?” 

“What’s what?” asked a brother officer standing 
near. 

“Blast my cats, if it aint a woman !” 

“A woman?” 

“Yes, sir; either a woman, or a man rigged out 
in petticoats. Look at her! And there are some 
darkies ! What does it mean ? ’ ’ 

He took the glass and gazed earnestly for a few 
seconds. 

“You’re right. It’s a woman. But what the 
devil does she want in such a place as this ? ” 

“Wait and see.” 

As might be imagined, the approach of the squad 
awoke the liveliest interest. The question was 
repeated several times over, “what the devil does 
she want in such a place as this?” It certainly 
was a mystery. 

As the party crossed the bridge, we saw the 
woman’s face. It was one of undoubted strength in 
every feature, but with an expression of sadness. 
Her form was tall, erect, and her steady tread told 
that she had strength of muscle as well as strength 


122 


of mind. Her dress was a plain but neatly made 
calico, and her head covering was an ordinary 
bonnet. No ribbons were visible. 

Three colored people — two women and a man — 
followed just behind her. 

“ Major,” said the lieutenant in charge of the 
exploring party, advancing with his men to the 
platform, “I encountered this lady and her servants 
about three miles from here, coming westward over 
the trestle-work. She is in search of her husband. 
She begged to be conducted to you, which I 
consented to do.’’ 

“Oh, sir, do you know where he is?” she asked 
eagerly. Her calmness now changed into pleading 
■earnestness, and the eloquence of her deep brown 
eyes relieved the slight harshness of her features. 

“Suppose you step this way, madam,” he replied. 
Then, after he had given orders about caring for 
the colored people, he proceeded with the lady and 
his brother officers to the cabin of the largest sloop. 
It was late in the afternoon, and out of doors the 
chilly atmosphere had made it decidedly uncom- 
fortable. Besides this, however, an uneasy presenti- 
ment urged the officer to delay the interview. But 
once in the cabin, he no longer had an excuse. 


123 


‘‘ Now, madam, I will hear your story,” said the 
commander. 

‘ ‘ I have no story to tell,” she answered. “ My 
husband was a Confederate soldier. We lived at 
Ponchatoula, several miles from here. Last week 
he came with his command into this swamp to 
destro}^ the railroad bridges. Since then I have 
heard nothing from him. His company returned, 
but he was not among them. They said he must 
have been lost in the forest. I waited patiently for 
five days for him to come back, but he did not 
come. I could no longer bear the suspense, so I 
started out to find him with these faithful servants 
of mine whom I have with me. I had gone many 
miles when your men met me. I pleaded with 
them to bring me here, and at last they consented.” 
Up to this point she had spoken clearly, and save 
a slight trembling in her tones, calmly. But all 
at once an overwhelming tide of anxiet}^ swept 
away her forced composure, and she shook from 
head to foot as she cried almost wildly, “Where is 
he ? You -must have seen him in the swamp ! For 
God’s sake tell me where he is ! ” 

“Had your husband anything about his person 
by which he could be identified ? ” questioned the 
commander. 


124 


She shrank as though he had struck her. 

“Identified!’’ she repeated, hoarsely. “You do 
not mean — Oh, merciful God I ” — she stopped, literally 
gasping for breath. 

“Madam, calm yourself,” said the ofiicer, “if you 
wish to find your husband ” — he paused, for in the 
face of his growing suspicions it seemed cruel to 
give her hope. 

But she eagerly caught at his words. 

“ I beg your pardon — I am a little nervous — I 
have gone through so much anxiety,” she said, 
pathetically, “ and the word you used startled me 
foolishly. What did you ask me? Oh, yes; did 
he have anything about him. Let me see, let me 
see,” she slowly repeated. 

The officer now convinced that a harrowing dis- 
closure was at hand, had determined to conquer 
himself and make it as mercifully short as he could. 

While she was studying, he took from his bag- 
gage the gold ring and curiously sealed box which 
had been found on the decayed corpse, near Pass 
Man Chac. 

“ Had he a ring ? ” he asked. 

‘‘Yes, sir,” she exclaimed eagerly, “a plain gold 


band, broad and thick.” 


125 


“ Had it an inscription ? ’’ 

“Yes, yes/' — her face was now full of intense 
interest — “engraven on the inside." 

“ Do you remember it ? " 

“ Perfectly. ‘ 'Til death do us part.' " 

“ Madam, is that the ring ? " he exclaimed, ex- 
tending the gold band toward her. 

A second's glance, and she had snatched it and 
was pressing it lovingly to her lips, her face fairly 
beaming with happiness. 

“ It is, it is ! " she repeated. “ Oh, you have 
found him ! Thank God ! Where is he ? Tell 
me — tell me ! Let me see him." ' 

The officers were silent. The scene was one of 
those dramatic climaxes in real life that stir the 
heart but silence the tongue. The woman’s joy 
amounted to ecstacy. She fondled the memento 
with all the warmth of a wife's devotion, in an 
outpouring of tenderness at the happy anticipation 
of the coming reunion. Would it do to end her 
happiness by telling her the frightful truth ? The 
blow, cruel as it appeared, must come sooner or 
later. 

All at once their hesitation seemed to strike her 
She looked up at them anxiously. 


126 


“You are silent,” she said. “Is my husband a 
prisoner ? I expect it. Is he wounded — ill ? I can 
bear even that. You asked me to identify him. 
Is — is he dangerously hurt — unconscious ? My pres- 
ence cannot harm him — I am his wife. I must — I 
will go to him ! 

Still the officers said nothing. 

“Why do you not answer me? Where is my 
husband ? With womanly institution she began 
to see that all was not right. “Tell me,"’ she 
pleaded, “ where is he ? I am his wife, I tell you ! ” 
she cried passionately. “ This delay is torture ! 
What have 3’ou done to him? Why do you keep 
me from him ? Tell me,” she pleaded, “ for God’s 
sake, tell me where is my husband ? ” 

It was pitiful to watch her struggle for composure 
as she breathlessly waited their answer. 

There was an instant’s pause, and then the com- 
mander, in a voice husky with emotion, said : 
^^Madam^ your husband is deadl^ 

The worst had come. She gazed abstractedly at 
the men for a minute, with a face as rigid as death 
itself, stunned by the might of the blow. But sud- 
denly full consciousness came over her, and her 
whole being seemed convulsed with agony, while 


127 


a scream that sounded more like it had been 
wrenched from her than uttered, tore through her 
white lips that a moment more were set in merciful 
unconsciousness, as she fell senseless on the cabin 
floor. 

The surgeon was called in. Restoratives were 
applied, but the violent shock, following upon the 
arduous labors she had endured, walking over many 
miles of ties, with nerves strained to the highest 
pitch by anxiety and suspense, resulted in complete 
prostration. The sympathy felt for her was general 
on both sides. The officers’ cabin was given up 
entirely to her, and the men and surgeon were 
ordered to spare no trouble to insure her comfort. 

Thus she passed through the first keen bitterness 
of her desolation and sorrow in the midst of enemies 
in whom she had found tender friends, carefully 
tended by the same hands that had honored her 
husband with a soldier’s grave. 


128 


CHAPTER IV. 


ONI.Y ONE RETURNS. 

The sun was nearly down, and interest began to 
centre in the return of Nixon and Gibson. 

Much solicitude was felt for them, as their time 
was up, and yet they did not appear. The sun 
went down. Still no sign of their coming. The 
anxiety now became general. It was increased by 
a sudden change in the weather. 

The atmosphere grew cooler. Evidently a 
‘‘Norther’' was coming — a curious storm of those 
regions, produced by a blast from the north, driving 
the clouds south and meeting with the overheated 
atmosphere. It rarely lasts beyond three hours, 
but for the time the mercury runs down many 
degrees, and the air becomes disagreeably cold. 
Every one began to shiver as the chilly winds 
rustled among the forests. Hands were stuck in 
pockets, and instead of lolling under genial skies 


129 


in a pleasant temperature, the men actively bestirred 
themselves, to keep warm. 

The storm made us more anxious than ever 
about the safety of our two scouts. 

Some believed that one night in that swamp 
alone meant death. Many feared the worst, while 
a few of the soldiers gave the men up as lost. 
Gloom gradually settled upon the whole camp. 

But just as twilight was saying good-bye, and 
the darkness of night was coming in, a woe-begone 
bedraggled-looking creature stumbled out of the 
forest shades towards the railroad. 

It was Gibson. 

A hurrah of welcome immediately went up from 
a hundred throats. 

But Gibson was in no humor to appreciate even 
the most cordial of greetings. His ashen face, 
when the camp-fire fell upon it, was wonderfully 
strange — it looked like the countenance of a walk- 
ing corpse. 

Food and drink somewhat restored him, but 
did not take away his deadly pallor. 

When he could speak, he had a terrible tale of 
suffering to relate. 


130 


He had started out with a brave heart and deter- 
mined mind. For the first two or three hours his 
spirits were unflagging. He made his way through 
the thick growth of cypress and briars as fast as 
possible, keeping a due record of his bearings so as 
not to be lost. 

But the horrors of the place soon affected him. 

Nameless fears kept creeping upon him in spite 
of the most resolute efforts to banish them ; uncanny 
suggestions came thronging to his mind and grew 
ghastly with increasing terror. Everything was so 
gloomily silent that he felt well-nigh helpless amid 
the dangers that surrounded him. At one time he 
ran into a group of alligators, and barely escaped 
their hideous jaws by climbing a tree. He scared 
the animals by firing his revolver, but the echoes 
of the reports were repeated with such strangeness 
that he became more frightened than ever. He 
kept going forward, led by a sense of duty, but it 
seemed as if every step brought him nearer his 
grave ; and when he turned back towards the camp 
he scarcely expected to reach his comrades alive. 
Practically, his explorations had availed nothing, 
as all he saw was the swamp. He was slowly 


delivering his narrative, and the men were deeply 
interested, when he paused and abruptly asked: 

“ Where is Nixon ? ” 

Ah ! yes, where was Nixon ? The others listening 
to Gibson, had almost forgotten his comrade. Men 
volunteered to search for him, but this the com- 
mander refused to allow, knowing full well that if 
they ventured away in the darkness, they would be 
lost. But guns were fired, in hope that Nixon 
would hear them. Vain hope ! No answer came. 
The bed-time hour arrived. It was useless to 
attempt anything further till morning. Nixon was. 
either dead, or sheltering in a tree until daybreak. 

Several hours before morning, the norther dis- 
appeared, and the atmosphere became as balmy as- 
a 'summer day. The night’s rest had not taken 
away Gibson’s pale and haggard looks; indeed, the 
daylight revealed his changed appearance so much 
more plainly that one of the men remarked, “I 
believe Gibson has stayed out in the swamp, and 
sent his ghost back here to the camp.” 

Our guest, the unfortunate lady whose name we 
had not yet ascertained, was much improved, thanks 
to the care of a good surgeon, but her grief was 
still intense, though more controlled. She had 


132 


excited warm sympathy among the men, and many 
interested inquiries were made about her condition. 

But it was the fate of Nixon that disturbed our 
comfort. 

Where could he be ? Was he alive, or was he 
dead ? These questions prompted themselves a 
thousand different times. The half-eaten corpse 
near Pass Man Chac arose to memory and suggested 
the calamity which might have befallen our own 
scout, but for a feeling we could not explain even 
to ourselves, we refused to believe him dead. 

The early morning hours were busily occupied in 
organizing searching parties for Nixon. They were 
despatched immediatel}^ after breakfast. Other 
duties claimed attention, and, in fact, there was so 
much to do that time passed quickly, and the 
dinner hour wdth the alligator soup, came almost 
before we knew it. 


133 


CHAPTER V. 


ROMANCE AND TRAGEDY. 

The servants who had accompanied our strange 
visitor were kept under close guard. The two 
women were permitted to wait on the sick lady, 
but due watchfulness was observed over them. 

That afternoon, the lady became much better. The 
flood of tears had come and gone, leaving behind 
them the calm and unimpassioned grief of a noble 
mind and affectionate heart. With returning strength 
came also the fortitude that naturally belonged to her 
character, and the quiet endurance with which she 
bore her heavy loss, commanded respect as much 
as her sorrow excited sympathy. 

When the surgeon allowed her to sit up and to 
converse, her cabin was visited by the commander. 
She received him with grateful courtesy, thanking 
him warmly for the generous manner in which she 
had been treated. 

“ I want to ask you now,” she at length said, 
“ about my husband. You need have no fear of 


134 


overtaxing my feelings,” she added quickl}^ “I 
have stood the worst, and I can now patiently hear 
what you have to say.” 

The commander told the story as simply as he 
could, leaving out the more horrible details, relating 
it, in fact, with a stricter regard for the wife’s 
feelings than for the truth. 

She listened, as she had promised, calmly and 
patiently — if the narrative made the quivering 
wound of her grief bleed afresh, she bravely 
repressed all outward signs of the smart. 

“Will 3^ou lead me to his grave?” she asked. 

“That is simply impossible, madam. It is a long 
distance from here, and the country is such that 
3'ou could not travel through it. But there are two 
other things I found upon the body which I have 
not delivered. One is this strip of paper, and the 
other is this small package.” 

She read the fragmentary note, and despite all 
•efforts at self-control, the tears came thick and fast. 
For a moment she wept silently, and then was 
•calm. 

‘ ‘ Oh, yes, I recognize the watch charm. It is 
the one that Victor used to wear. But what is the 
package ? ” 


135 


She proceeded to break it open. The commander 
imagined that he saw a jewel as she lifted the top 
of the little box ; but before he could assure himself, 
she snatched it up hurriedly and turned pale as she 
placed it in her pocket, remarking as she did so, 
^‘Oh, yes; it’s one of our family” — and she stopped. 

Neither her hasty concealment of the package nor 
her agitation at sight of it, escaped the officer’s keen 
eye, though he took no apparent notice of the 
incident. 

“Madam,” he said, courteously, “It is customary 
to ask strangers visiting our camp to give an 
account of themselves. As yet, I have not in your 
case complied with the custom, but if you feel 
able to tell it, I would very much like to hear the 
story of your life.” 

She was quiet for a minute or two, evidently 
undecided what to do. Presently she said : 

“ You have treated me so kindly that I cannot 
well refuse, but 1 assure you that it is not alto- 
gether to m3" own desire. My name is Madelaine 
Lecour. M3" husband was Victor Lecour. Perhaps 
a part of ni3" life has been a romance — it seems 
more like a dreadful tragedy. Over twenty-five 
3"ears ago, I was born at our plantation on the Mis- 


136 


sissippi. There all my early life was spent. My 
parents were wealthy, and our home was sur- 
rounded by every comfort. Oh, how happy it 
seems, looking back at it from this awful place ! 
Among the visitors to our house was Victor Lecour 
The story of our love is too uneventful to interest 
stranger ears. But it was full of the sweetest, 
strangest experiences to us. We lived only for each 
other, and in a world where everything was 
wonderful, and every hour a year of commonplace 
existence. To others it was merely an ordinary 
love-affair, remarkable only for the smoothness of 
its course. Soon after our engagement we were 
married. We were so happy there on the plan- 
tation until this terrible war came, and then he 
was ordered with his regiment to Ponchatoula. 
They allowed him hardly time enough to bid his 
wife good-bye before he was off.” 

She paused, and for several minutes stared 
vacantly out of the cabin. 

‘^A few months afterwards,” she continued, “Far- 
ragut and his fleet entered the Mississippi. You 
know the result far better than I can tell it to you. 
Fort St. Philip and Fort Jackson fell into his 
hands, and then those fearful war boats came up 


137 


on the river. Our home was a large plantation 
dwelling near the levee. We could hear the mighty 
rumbling of the guns and the noise, and, oh, how 
fearfully it frightened us! That night in April we 
had all gathered in the sitting-room — my parents, 
my young brother and my little sister. My older 
brother and two cousins were out of doors. By 
and bye, we heard the approach of one of the boats. 
We went to the window to see it pass. Just as it 
was opposite our plantation, my brother and cousins 
fired their guns at it. It was a crazy thing for 
them to do, and they did it without for the moment 
imagining what would follow. But no sooner had 
the reports of their guns died away, than the men 
began to fire the cannons from the ship. Great 
volleys of murderous shot hit our house, and soon 
it lay in complete ruins. Shall I ever forget that ? ’’ 

She paused — her eyes filled and her lips quivered, 
but she resolutely checked the tears that were 
beginning to flow at the memory of her happy 
home. 

“ It was as if death itself had visited us. All the 
family except myself were killed. My escape was 
almost miraculous, but for the time I wished I were 
dead along with my parents. Most of the slaves 


138 


were also shot down. The destruction the guns 
was well-nigh complete. I know that the fault of 
the firing belonged to iny injudicious brother, but 
why did the soldiers visit it upon us so cruell}' ? 
Why should they want to destroy a household for 
an act of folly ? Why are we doomed to this war 
of bloodshed and murder ? But I’m wandering from 
my subject,” she added with instant recover}^ of her 
self-control. “After the calamity at our home — or 
rather our former home — I was heartbroken, and for 
several days yielded with scarce a struggle to 
despair, but these three slaves — whom you found 
with me, and who were the only ones that escaped 
death at our home — cheered me, and promised to be 
always faithful and obedient. You don’t know how 
grateful I am to them — they have been so kind to 
me in every misfortune. Well, I determined to go 
to Ponchatoula and find my husband. That was 
the only thing left for me to do after we had buried 
the bodies of those killed at the plantation. Ah, 
what a terrible funeral that was ! (Never mind 
those tears. They will go away presently.) After 
the sad ordeal, I started on the journey. These 
servants were my only escort. How we got to our 
destination. Heaven only knows! Our journey was 


139 


a series of hardships, but we persevered until we 
accomplished it. I can’t begin to tell you the 
horrors of a woman’s camping in these swamps, or 
of the terrible things we endured on our way. The 
black man, Tbm, did everything that human being 
could do to carry us safely through, and he at last 
succeeded. When we got to Ponchatoula, my 
husband was there, and you may be sure our 
meeting was a happ}^ one. Our resources were 
slender, and our living was consequently simple. 
He was stationed at Ponchatoula for several months, 
and then two weeks ago, he was ordered with his 
companj^ to come down in the dreadful swamp and 
demolish the railroad bridges. When I parted with 
him then, I had, somehow, a presentiment that I 
would never see him again, but little I believed 
that it would ever come true. In a few days, his 
regiment returned but he was not with it. They 
said he had wandered off into the swamp, and had 
probably been lost. But they told me he would be 
sure to make his way to the cotton schooners at 
Alligator Station. I waited and waited for tidings 
of him. He was all that I had left, and you can 
guess how devotedly I was attached to him. With 
every other object of affection torn from me, all the 


140 


love of my nature centered in him. At last, I could 
bear the suspense no longer. I was crazed. I took 
my servants here, and started into the swamp. I 
did not heed its horrors this time — I was going to 
my husband — God help me ! I thought so! You 
know the rest of the story. It is all I have to tell.” 

She stopped speaking and turned sadly away. 
The officer, much affected by her narrative, was 
silent for several minutes. Then he spoke. 

“About the future. Have you any plans?” 

“ None whatever,” she replied. “ I have now lost 
all dear to me in this world. But I suppose I 
must make my way back to Ponchatoula.” 

“Not in your present condition. The journey 
would kill you. You had better remain in our 
camp here until something fortunate happens. You 
are welcome to the best we have. And I hope,” he 
added, rising, “ you will not think of going away 
until you become stronger.” 

She thanked him again warmly for his kindness, 
and he took his leave. As he jumped off the boat 
to walk up to the station, he muttered to himself : 

“I wonder what’s in that small box? Why did 
she try to hide it, and afterwards sa}^ nothing about 
it in her , story ? She’s a very clever woman — a 
very clever woman.” 


CAAPTKR VI. 


NIXON. 

The fate of Nixon remained a sealed book. 

The exploring parties found no trace of him. The 
guns fired during the day received no answers. Our 
main hope, however, lay in five picked men who had 
been sent to follow his trail and find him if they 
could. 

Tate in the afternoon the others had all come 
back from searches barren of results. No Confed- 
erates had been seen, and the country was the same 
dismal region wherever they went. 

Having reported their profitless journeys, they 
were grouped on the station platform, when the 
anxiously-expected party of five were seen on the 
other side of the bayou, two of the men carrying a 
limp-looking bundle. Their waiting comrades fairly 
held their breath in the mingled suspense of hope 
and fear. All at once the men cheered. 

“ There’s Nixon. There’s Nixon ! ” 


142 

The small boats were soon shoved to the other 
shore, and the party were brought over to the crowds 
that had collected on the banks prepared to give 
them a welcome as warm as hearts could make it. 

But Nixon ! 

What an awful sight he was ! He looked like 
a mere specter. His cheeks were sunken and 
cadaverous ; his lips were tightly closed as if in 
anger or remorse ; his eyes bulged, and madly 
stared in one direction ; his face was the picture 
of a horrible fear, which transfixed him, and give 
his features a pallor that seemed to have come 
from the lower world. 

“Hello, Nixon! Hello, old boy!” his comrades 
shouted. 

But he gazed at them vacantly without show- 
ing the least sign of intelligence. 

The spectacle moved every man who witnessed it. 

He was placed at once in charge of the surgeon, 
who had him carried to one of the schooners. 

Then the searchers detailed the way in which 
they had found the missing man. 

After a diligent search all the morning, near mid- 
day they discovered boot tracks around a large; 
branching tree, from under which a hungry-looking 


143 


crowd of alligators fled at their approach. The 
men saw that the bark of the tree had been rubbed 
away as if from climbing, and closer investigation 
showed in one of the crotches part of a soldier’s 
uniform. Bvery man’s heart went out in the glad 
cheer that greeted the welcome sight, although 
many a cheek turned pale at the thought of the 
horrid feast they had barely prevented. 

To climb the tree was the work of a moment. 
The climber approached the uniform — it was indeed 
Nixon crouching there. 

“Come along, old boy; get out of this,’’ shouted 
the rescuer, but to his amazement, Nixon gave a 
scream, and shrunk from him as if he had been a 
devil. 

It was by hard work only that they got him 
down — for he did not recognize a single man, and 
tried to get put of their grasp. They took him in 
their arms and brought him back to the camp as 
fast as they could. 

It was a source of much congratulation that the 
lost had been found, but the circumstances saddened 
all our joy. 

Nixon’s condition gave his comrades keen anxiety, 
especially as they could not know for some time 


144 


how far his reason had been unsettled by his 
experiences in the swamp. Careful nursing was the 
prime requisite for his recovery, and this was 
unexpectedly supplied. To the great relief of the 
surgeons, Mrs. Lecour, on hearing of his condition, 
generously offered her services, and they were 
promptly and eagerly accepted. We felt a quiet 
satisfaction, therefore, in knowing that our sick 
comrade was in good hands. 

Now that the last scout had been found, we 
determined to press forward on our explorations. It 
was decided to leave a large guard of men at 
Alligator Station, to care for the schooners, and 
keep charge of the prisoners and sick men. 

At first, we were undecided what to do with 
Mrs. Lecour and her servants ; whether to take them 
with us, or leave them at the station. 

The latter course was preferred, since, in case of 
an engagement, they would be undesirable burdens 
on our hands. 

This plan was communicated to the lady. 

At first, she strenously objected, but the dangers 
being pointed out, she consented to remain, promis- 
ing to do all in her power to nurse our sick men 
and poor Nixon into good health. 


145 


CHAPTER VII. 


SURPRISERS SURPRISED. 

It was New Year’s Day, 1863, when we left 
Alligator Station for Ponchatoula. 

Everything had been prepared, and by sunrise we 
were off, marching as usual over the railroad. By 
noon that day we began to notice a great change in 
the formation of the forests. The water was more 
shallow, and here and there dry spots, with different 
kinds of trees, indicated that we were approaching 
the main land. 

Sure enough, two hours later we were in a 
country fully twenty-five or fifty feet above the 
level of the swamp. In the open fields we made a 
different arrangement in our line of march, and 
lines of skirmishers and flankers were formed. 

As yet, • we knew nothing of the region into 
which we were penetrating. 

Several decrepid contrabands were captured, but 
they persistently refused to give us any information. 


146 


To see a man anywhere was an extraordinary sight. 
I afterwards learned that all the able-bodied color- 
ed men had been sent to Port Hudson, to work on 
the fortifications. Our secret service being unable 
to do anything, we determined to proceed with 
great care, being first satisfied that our advance 
was cautious and reliable. 

We felt sure that there was not a large force of 
Confederates in the vicinity ; otherwise, we could 
not have issued from the swamp without resistance. 

We went forward, therefore, with small expec- 
tations of danger. 

In view of the fact that we were approaching a 
defenceless village, orders were given the men to 
use great . prudence, and not to fire on the unarmed 
and unprotected women and children. 

The regiment moved along in close column, with 
a company opening the march. 

Suddenly every one of the men in the advance 
came to a halt as if there was danger ahead. They 
looked before them with an earnest gaze which soon 
brought the other men to the place. 

Not one of us will ever forget that sight. 

On leaving the swamp we had carefully avoided 
the railroad track, yet keeping within easy reach 


H7 


of it, since it was the only guide we had of the 
region. We had been ascending gradually since 
we left the low lands, until we came to the place 
where the men had halted. 

Right there was a sudden declivity overlooking 
a beautiful meadow, and commanding an extensive 
view over the country. But the chief attraction 
lay about a thousand yards away. 

Under a grove of large oak trees, was a throng 
of women and children engaged in the festivities 
of New Year’s day. It was the village fete of the 
Ponchatoula people. A gay scene it made, with 
the swings, the games, the bright dresses and the 
happy faces — a contrast almost startling in its sud- 
denness to the dismal swamp and the sad scenes we 
had left behind us. The day was an ideal one, and 
the pic-nickers seemed in full enjoyment of the 
pleasures surrounding them. 

We were concealed by the growth of foliage, and 
the people had no warning of our approach. With 
the aid of a glass, we felt almost at the side of the 
merr\’-makers. And the strangest part of it all was 
that we saw not a single uniformed man in the 
whole throng, which consisted altogether of women 


148 


and children, with a few youths and old men — in 
all numbering between two and three hundred. 

It was a pity to interrupt such a scene, but 
orders are orders, and on to Ponchatoula we had 
to go. 

A short appeal to the men sufficed to remind 
them of their mothers, sisters and sweethearts, and 
to take the ill-feelings of war from their hearts. It 
was determined that the load should be withdrawn 
frotm every gun, so that not a drop of innocent 
blood should be spilt. Then one-half the regiment 
was ordered to cross the meadow at double-step, 
with their muskets on the right shoulder, as in 
parade. The rest of the command was to regain 
the railroad track, and by swiftly advancing, to 
descend upon the merry-makers. 

The plan worked admirably. 

And now occurred a comical mistake. Our brilliant 
.'Zouave uniform was well known to them as that of 
one of their favorite regiments, “The Louisiana 
Tigers.” They saw the men coming, and cheered 
royally at their approach, thinking they were South- 
-ern troops. As onward the soldiers went, more 
enthusiastic became the reception. The people 
stopped their frolicking to welcome the boys. 


149 


Handkerchiefs were waved in the air, huzzas went 
up, and everybody showed his or her gladness to 
see the regiment, At first, our boys did not know 
what to make of it. Southerners cheering North- 
erners ! It seemed impossible. But they soon saw 
the meaning, so determined to embrace the oppor- 
tunity and have some fun. 

They lost no time in mingling with the crowd, 
and soon were chatting with the sweet village 
belles, gayly enjoying what was to them a transfor- 
mation scene as compared with the terrible experi- 
ences of Alligator Swamp. The fair maidens did 
their best with shy words and speaking orbs to 
assist the gallant warriors to throw off that timid 
reserve which is so striking a characteristic of 
soldier lads in the presence of pretty lassies. And 
the boys nobly responded. They had not expected 
to meet such a body of Confederates as this, but 
though totally unprepared, they were equal to the 
emergency. To be shot at with fair eyes ” instead 
of being “ a mark for smoky muskets,’’ was an 4 

agreeable change, to put it mildly, in the usual 
program of war, and so they faced this fire from 
fair Southern eyes without a tremor. They even 
started, without waiting for orders, to return it, 


which they did with such undaunted courage, that 
the battery of killing glances they brought to bear, 
did considerable execution in the enemy’s ranks. 
After some preliminary skirmishing on both sides, 
the fighting began to be at rather close quarters, 
rapidly nearing a hand-to-hand encounter. 

We certainly enjoyed our novel experience. 
Starting as Zouaves, we had been cheered into 
Tigers, and now from Tigers, we were in a fair way 
to be turned into lions. 

Strange to say, the people mistrusted nothing. 
The Louisiana Tigers were strangers to them, and 
we could pass for Tigers as well as Zouaves. 

In the midst of the general sociability and hilarity, 
the second wing made its appearance, and as the 
villagers turned towards them to welcome more 
Tigers, the first object that greeted their astounded 
gaze was the Stars and Stripes floating gracefully 
in that gentle New Year’s breeze. 

There was an instant’s dumb dismay, then yells 
and screams arose from the panic-stricken women 
and children at sight of the feared and detested 
flag. The general astonishment knew no bounds, 
and for the time the people were rushing back and 
►forth like so many wild beings. We tried to calm 


them ; they refused to be conciliated. The fair 
damsels who had found us so fascinating when they 
fancied us Louisiana Tigers, suddenly discovered 
that we had lost all our attractions as Northern 
Zouaves, and angrily repulsed all our well meant 
efforts at conciliation. Woman-like, they gave us 
the credit of their own mistake, and then proceeded 
to visit it upon us. Anger had succeeded to dismay, 
and we received the full benefit of the change. We 
did not relish it. True, we were soldiers ready to die 
for the flag now floating above us, but we were also 
men, and under no circumstances does a man enjoy 
coming down from a pedestal where he has been 
posing a martial hero to susceptible young hearts, 
surrounded by the flattering incense of female ador- 
ation. Still we were not discouraged, but renewed 
our endeavors to allay the bitterness the discovery 
of our true colors had excited. After awhile, how- 
ever, their judgment began to act. 

They recognized the fact that they were now in 
our hands — that the safety of their homes depended 
upon cool, wise and submissive action. As for our- 
selves, we treated them with all the kindness and 
-consideration that lay in our power, and to our 
delight, the anger and surprise moderated. They 


52 


became much more pleasant to our men, and showed 
that they could in a manner be generous and hos- 
pitable even under all the disadvantages of captivity 
although there was no disposition to renew the 
friendliness of our first meeting. 

From the picnic grounds, our regiment went in 
with the people to Ponchatoula, about a mile and a 
half distant. 

We found it a pretty little village, nicely laid 
out, with neatly kept streets. The houses were 
well constructed, and there were several public 
buildings of pretentious size, which would have 
done credit to a larger town. 

We at once took possession of the place. The 
few young men were placed under arrest. During 
the night our pickets were stationed on every side, 
so as to throw complete protection around the camp. 
In vain were attempts made to gain some informa- 
tion of the country about us. Every man and many 
women were closely questioned, but their replies 
did no good. We had, therefore, to find out every- 
thing for ourselves. 

The people, of course, were too much put out 
about their capture to give Yankee soldiers enter- 
tainment; but dur boys managed to have a good 


153 


time despite the fact that the few festivities were of 
their own making. 

The atmosphere, so very different from the dismal 
swamp air, was of itself an invigoration. The 
change in a single day from lagoons and prison-like 
barriers of great cypress trees, to dry land with its 
people and its civilization, brought also a change in 
the men. But, with all their merriment, there was 
no indignity perpetrated.; no outrage upon private 
property; no unnecessary intrusion upon homes and 
dwellings. 

We captured the place without firing a single 
shot — we possessed it without resorting to the 
unpleasant measures which are so often used by 
the conqueror over the conquered. 


154 


CHAPTER Vlir. 


WE RETURN TO ALLIGATOR STATION. 

Our sources of information failing in results, we 
determined the next morning to send a strong 
reconnoissance out on a hand car towards Jackson, 
with orders to proceed until it came across Confed- 
erate soldiers. 

The men had not been gone over an hour, before 
they came back in great haste, reporting that 
trains were slowly approaching Ponchatoula. Our 
men began to look for a little excitement from the 
boys in gray. Preparations were immediately made 
to meet them. 

Our instructions had been very explicit not to 
participate in an active engagement. For this 
reason a squad of our best men was sent forward 
with orders to draw out the whole force of the 
enemy, but to fall back on their approach. This 
plan was followed in order to get an exact estimate 


155 


of the force. To guard our own position securely, 
and to anticipate any move that might be made 
for a pitched engagement, we decided to evacuate 
the town and test the strength of the Confederates 
between Ponchatoula and the swamp. By this 
policy we felt perfectly safe against being cut off 
by a flank movement. 

Accordingly we fell back. 

Sure enough, it was not long before the enemy 
began approaching. Our reconnoissance had acted 
as directed, and had gradually drawn the Confed- 
erates on to Ponchatoula. Our movements were 
cautious. By careful manoeuvering, we soon made 
the enemy deploy its whole strength, which devel- 
oped between twelve and fifteen hundred men, 
under the command of an officer whose name I 
understood to be Jeff Thompson. 

Manifestly in our position, it was useless to 
attempt fighting them. 

We, therefore, concluded to regain the swamp, 
knowing that on the trestle-work our flanks would 
be fully protected. Our orders had been carried 
out in determining the forces; now it remained for 
us to quickly withdraw and take a safe refuge in 
the swamp. 


56 


But judge of our feelings as we struck towards 
the woods, to find ourselves flanked by an Indian 
regiment belonging to the Confederate forces. Ac- 
quainted with the country and accustomed to 
marching through the swampy regions, they had 
made a wide detoUr through the woods, and cut off 
our retreat the very moment we least expected it. 

Here, forsooth, was a plenty of fighting! 

It began almost instantly. It was murderous 
and bitter. 

The Indians fought as Indians always do. Hid- 
ing behind trees, clumps of bushes and mounds of 
earth, they poured the deadly fire of their rifles 
among our men without mercy and with no cessa- 
tion. 

The soldier shooting in front, was likely to be 
pierced by a bullet from behind. 

It was a battle of life and death, and our men 
went to work inspired by that dreadful truth. 

Several of the boys fell from the first fire. These 
we could not leave to die and rot alone in such a 
place ; so we decided to cover our retreat and carr}" 
our dead and wounded with us. This, of course, 
greatly impeded our progress, and made our position 
more dangerous, since the Indians continued shoot- 


157 


ing from their ambushes. Some of the men 
returned the fire, while the others dragged their 
unfortunate comrades over the ties to get them 
be3^ond the enemy’s reach. 

For three hours the combat, or rather murder, 
•lasted. 

Then, and not until then, did the Indians stop. 

The swamp had become too dense, and they 
were compelled to withdraw, but not before they 
had killed twenty-two of our men and left us with 
forty-odd more wounded. These we transported as 
carefully as the railroad ties would permit. 

Couriers were despatched to Alligator Station 
with orders to have the schooners converted into 
temporary hospitals. 

We followed as rapidly" as we could, reaching our 
destination that afternoon. The guard had made 
every possible preparation for our injured men, 
finding the cotton of excellent service in supplying 
comfortable resting places. The cabins had been 
vacated for the benefit of the sufferers, and there 
was a general and earnest effort to aid them in 
every way. The burial of our dead in the dry 
mounds of earth was a dut}^ performed amidst 
much sadness and many tears. 


58 


But how about Nixon ? Had he improved ? 

That was our first eager question when the ex- 
citement of our disastrous retreat began to subside, 
and allow us to think of other things. 

He had improved, and improved wonderfully. 
Mrs. Tecour’s ministrations were evidently success- 
ful. 

It was true that he still was pale and emaciated, 
and that his mind was often wandering and his 
voice weak; but there was a brighter light in his 
eyes, and his conversation showed his illness had 
not impaired the old-time good nature that had 
made him such a favorite with his comrades. 

We soon learned how carefully, diligently and 
devotedl)^ Mrs. Lecour had nursed him; what ex- 
cellent superintendence she had exercised over him, 
and how gratefully appreciative he seemed to be 
for all her attentions. 

“She’s better than a dozen doctors,” said our 
surgeon. 

Presently it began to dawn on us that Nixon’s 
appreciation of his nurse was warmer than even 
the strictest gratitude could exact. When she was 
present, he had eyes for no one else ; when she 
spoke to him, he fairly hung upon her words. He 


159 


was as submissive as a child to her directions, but 
evidently obeyed them more to please her than for 
the sake of their good effect upon his health. His 
eyes softened as they turned upon her, and when 
at intervals, his mind seemed to wander, the sound 
of her voice instantly recalled him to himself. 

After studying these symptoms for awhile, one 
of the men made a bold diagnosis of the case. 

Blast me, if I don’t believe Nixon is in love!’’ 
he announced as the result. Indeed, there seemed 
to be a more or less clearly defined impression that 
something of a romance was going on not a thou- 
sand miles from Alligator Station. The surgeon 
was glad to hear it, “because,” said he, taking a 
strictly professional view of these tender develop- 
ments, “Nixon will get well all the quicker by 
taking a little dose of that sort of thing.” 

All the world loves a lover ; interest in the 
tender passion springs eternal in the human breast ; 
so it was not wonderful that ^neither war, battles 
nor sieges, surprises, retreats nor savage red-skins, 
could altogether banish the sentiment that is as 
old as human nature, and almost as strong. De- 
spite our thrilling experiences, not a man of us but 
felt it leap to life at the hint of a romance among 


i6o 


our midst; and Nixon acquired a new interest in 
our eyes as the lover of Madeleine Lecour. 

As for herself, though ordinarily quickly comes 
such knowledge to a woman, a still absorbing grief 
for her husband had evidently prevented her from 
discovering poor Nixon’s secret ; still less, that it 
was already the common property of his comrades. 
As her patient, the man whom she had nursed 
back to health of mind and body, she took a deep 
and tender interest in him — that was plain to all ; 
but whether her heart was yet responsive to the 
touch of love, or was buried in the lonely grave of 
Victor I^ecour, formed a matter of serious conjecture 
to us. It seemed as if fate had led her directly to 
the swamp to save Nixon ; perhaps, then, suggested 
the most sentimentally inclined among us, Nixon 
was destined to heal the wounds of her heart in re- 
turn. 

We bivouacked at that place several days longer. 

The result of our Jabors had been dispatched to 
the headquarters at New Orleans. In two days 
orders came for us to return to the Cresent Cit 5 ^ 
They reached us late in the afternoon, and we de- 
termined to proceed the next morning. 

That day, Nixon became himself again. 


i6i 


His mind was clear, and he conversed intelligent- 
ly and rationally. In the evening the commander 
visited his cabin, and shortly after, Mrs. Lecour, 
who had been out among the wounded men doing 
all she could to alleviate their sufferings, came in 
and gave the sick man some medicine, ordering 
him as she did so, not to talk too much nor to 
exert himself in any way. 

She was untiring in her attentions, and Nixon’s 
eyes followed her every motion with a mingled 
devotion and pleasure. 

As she offered to take his empty glass, he raised 
her hand and pressed it gratefully to his lips. 
“ This lady,” he said to the commander, has been 
like an angel to me in my calamity.” 

At the intensity of feeling expressed in his tone 
more than his words, Mrs. Lecour blushed like a 
girl. ‘‘You cannot imagine,” he continued, “how 
deeply grateful I am for her kindness. It could 
not have been more generous and sacrificing.” 

“You owe me no gratitude,” quickly responded 
Mrs. Lecour. “ If my services have been of use to 
you, I have but repaid my own debt.” 

“You saved my life!” exclaimed Nixon; “more 
than my life — my mind ! Owe you no gratitude ! 
I can never be grateful enough. You have saved 


62 


me from the most horrible of fates. I will never 
forget it while a spark of the life I owe entirely to 
your care, remains.” 

He paused, exhausted by the strength of his own 
emotion, but certainly no one who saw his earnest- 
ness, could doubt that his gratitude was not only 
sincere but overwhelming. 

Mrs. Lecour seemed too surprised at Nixon’s 
unusual energy to reply immediately, and the 
commander seized the opportunit}^ to say, “ I have 
come to tell you that we start for New Orleans 
to-morrow mofning.” 

“And w^hat shall I do?” exclaimed Mrs. Lecour. 

Nixon half started up, then restraining himself, 
turned eagerly to hear the commander’s reply. 

“That depends upon yourself,” said the latter, 
“but I think it would be best for you to accompany 
us. In the city, you will doubtless meet some of 
your friends.” 

She stood in deep thought for a moment, while 
Nixon watched her in silent anxiety. Then she 
said, “I suppose it is for the best. I am alone in 
the world.” 

Her eyes filled with tears, but Nixon turned 
away his head to hide the sudden light in his owm. 


CHAPTER IX. 


A PARTING AND A PROMISE. 

The next morning a squad of sailors, detailed’ 
from FarragnCs forces, arrived and took charge of 
the cotton schooners. 

Our course lay exactly as we had entered the 
swamp, compelling us to retrace our steps to Pass 
Man Chac. This necessitated more tiresome trestle- 
work travel, and as we had to transport our wounded 
in addition to our guns, progress was the more 
laborious. 

In arranging comfortable transportation for the 
injured men, Mrs. Eecour was especially effective. 

She made herself useful on all sides. She gave 
directions for carrying the sufferers, fixed them on 
the ambulances and stretchers, and invented every 
little convenience possible. HeV suggestions and 
orders were obeyed implicitly, and in a short time 
the boys looked upon her as the Commander of the 
“Crippled Corps.” 


The admiration for her indomitable perseverance 
and invaluable assistance was universal. No praise 
was too great for her. 

Nixon looked on it all with increasing satisfaction, 
but he was happiest when she came to his side and 
arranged him for the journey. 

It was while talking to and cheering him as best 
she could, that the order was given to advance. 

She walked near him the whole distance, as if she 

instinctively knew that her presence would give 
him strength to stand the dreary travel. Transpor- 
tation was offered her b}^ the warm-hearted soldiers, 
but she rejected it. 

“ No, I will walk,’’ she said^ “ and when I am 
tired, I will let you know.” 

The incidents of the trip were few, and developed 
nothing unusual in any way. Thanks to Mrs. 

Lecour, our wounded gave us less trouble than we 

expected. We crossed Lake Ponchartrain in schoon- 
ers drawn by the same slow tug, camped on the 
western banks at night, and arrived the next day 
in New Orleans. 

The endurance of Mrs. Lecour during the whole 
journey was simply wonderful. 


When asked how she could stand such a strain, 
she replied that it was because her youthful days 
had been mainly spent in outdoor exercise. The 
vigor of her constitution had never departed. 

We were too much interested in Mrs. Tecour 
to lose sight of her entirely, and so on parting 
with her, we claimed a right to know something 
of her future movements. 

She sought in vain to find her friends in the 
city — they had all disappeared. Failing in that, 
she looked for employment by which she could 
support herself, but here, too, she was disappointed. 
Her position was, indeed, a disheartening one, and 
would have driven almost any other woman to 
desperation. Bereft at once of husband, home and 
friends, without support or the means of obtaining 
it, her prospects could hardly have been darker, 
but she was too brave and self-reliant to give up 
the struggle and resign herself to helpless despair. 

Our regiment — the One Hundred and • Sixty- 
fifth New York — had been ordered to take 
possession of Camp Parapet — the deserted earth- 
works of the Confederates. This move was made 
because we expected an invasion of that region by 
the Confederates at no distant date. We were 


about ready to depart from the city. Our wounded 
had been cared for in the hospitals. 

Our last night in New Orleans had come. 

The boys resolved to celebrate it royally. Dark 
days were dawning for some of us — we would be 
merry while we could. So in fun and frolic passed 
the last hours of our stay in the Crescent City. 

About nine o’clock, in the midst of songs and 
reminiscences and merry-making, Mrs. Lecour sud- 
denly appeared in the camp. All who saw her 
rose instantly to their feet, and standing with 
uncovered heads, greeted her visit as an honor. 
The spontaneous tribute moved her deeply. She 
gratefully acknowledged it, and then asked to see 
•the commander, who, informed at once of her 
presence, hastened to extend her a warm welcome 
4 ;o the camp. 

“ I came to ask a service of you,” she said, after 
the formal greetings. 

“ I shall be most happy to perform it if it is 
within my power,” he replied. 

“I think 3^011 can do it without any trouble. It 
is this : I have failed to find either relatives or 
friends. I have failed to find even work. There 
^eems to be nothing which I can do to earn 1113^ 


167 

living, because I am inexperienced in manual labor. 
I have now decided to become a nurse in your 
hospital. I am much interested in the wounded 
men, and perhaps I can be of some little help to 
them in their sufferings. Will there be any diffi- 
culty in my getting a place ? ” 

“ None whatever, madam. But you have, if I 
mistake not, three servants — slaves, I believe you 
call them.’’ 

“ No, sir, you are mistaken. As far as I am con- 
cerned, the three colored people are as free as any 
man in your regiment. I have relinquished all 
claims upon them.” 

“ Then that answers what I was going to say. 
If you have decided on hospital work, I shall not 
try to persuade you out of it, for I know full well 
how grateful those poor fellows will be for your 
services.” 

She gave a sigh of mingled pleasure and relief. 
It was easy to see that her energetic spirit grew 
almost cheerful at the prospect of work. 

When shall I begin ? ” 

‘ ‘ Whenever 5^ou choose. I will go to the hospi- 
tal with you in the morning, if you wish it, and 
will introduce you to our surgeon general.” 


i68 


She thanked him and withdrew. 

The next morning he accompanied her to the 
hospital. She was placed in the ward occupied 
the men who had been wounded in the Dismal 
Swamp. Their satisfaction at being again under 
the care of their tender nurse of the swamp, showed 
itself in the joyful welcome they gave her. 

But if all were pleased with the prospect of 
having her still with them, Nixon’s joy was beyond 
measure. He said little after his first glad greeting, 
but he watched her jealously as she went from 
bed to bed, soothing pain with her gentle touch, 
and listening to expressions of pleasure at her 
presence that touchingly proved to her how sin- 
cerely her work among them had been appreciated. 

Our regiment that afternoon left for Fort Parapet. 

It was the last we ever saw of Mrs. Lecour. The 
balance of the story comes to me through other 
persons. I am no longer an eye-witness. 

Nixon remained in New Orleans for several 
weeks. 

There is no doubt that he would have stayed 
longer, had his inclination been consulted, to enjoy 
the benefit of Mrs. Lecour’ s nursing ; but to allow 
a well man in the hospital just because he liked 


to gaze upon one of the nurses,, was not exactl}^ 
conducive to the spirit of military discipline, nor 
did wounds of the heart, no matter how severe, 
exempt a man from military duty in those unro- 
mantic times. 

But apparent!}’ the romance commenced in the 
Dismal Swamp, had prospered in the hospital, where 
in the constant association of nurse with patient, 
Mrs. Decour had evidently learned to love the man 
to whom womanly pity — and we all know to what 
feeling a woman’s pity is akin — had first drawn 
her; her own utter loneliness and the manly earnest- 
ness of Nixon's love, had once more led her to taste 
the sweetest draught of life and find it good. 

Certain it is that Nixon was very much in love 
with Mrs. Lecour ; and that he had won her affection 
in return, there .seemed little doubt. 

When he was ordered back to his regiment, they 
said the parting was a very sorrowful one. 

Nixon joined us at Camp Parapet, amid the 
universal greetings of the boys. 

They were sincerely glad to see him with them 
again. 

To one of the officers in whom he often confided, 
he told the story of his stay in the hospital. He 


confessed his ardent attachment to Mrs. Lecour, 
‘‘and what is more,” said he, ‘‘we have mutually 
promised to meet each other in New Orleans one 
year from to-day.” 

“That was a rash promise. How long do you 
suppose this war will last.” 

“Oh, it will be ended in a year; and if it isn’t, I 
can write to New Orleans and explain why I could 
not get there at the time appointed. But I must 
keep the promise. I have a memento to return to 
her. She gave it to me with a positive request not 
to let it depart from my hands until I gave it back 
to her, and this memento I will keep as sacred as 
her love.” 

Just what the memento was he did not venture 
to say, but. a few days afterwards a package dropped 
from his vest pocket, and an officer who chanced to 
see it, declared that on it was fastened the identical 
seal found on the dead body at Pass Man Chac. 

Poor Nixon ! He was radiant with his new 
found happiness, and no gloomy forebodings came 
to mar his dreams of bliss, though on the heart 
that beat constantly with thoughts of love, rested 
always the fatal pledge. 


17 


CHAPTER X. 


THE END. 

Before the year was over, our regiment was 
ordered North. 

We left the fair skies of the South, and proceeded 
to Virginia. There in the Shenandoah Valle}', we 
assisted Sheridan in his glorious campaign. 

The year passed, but (now Captain) Nixon could 
neither send a message to New Orleans, nor go 
himself. Again and again he tried, with desperate 
anxiet}', to keep his tryst ; again and again he failed. 
The war closed, and still his promise had not been 
fulfilled in any way. He stuck^ to his company to 
the last. When it disbanded, he received the pay 
that was due him, and now no longer fettered b}' a 
soldier’s duty, he started with a lover’s haste, 
straight to New Orleans. 

It was with a heart full of love and hope that 
he entered the cit\' at last — a heart utterly unpre- 


72 


pared for the blow that awaited him. The meeting- 
on which he had fed during the long, weary months 
of separation — the meeting whose thoughts were 
ever with him through days of battle and nights 
of suffering — this meeting was not to be. Whether 
his love had doubted his truth, or whether she was 
dead, he knew not. He had lost her — all the rest 
was dreadful uncertainty. 

For months he searched the city, trying to find 
her, questioning people whom he met, looking 
through the newspapers, and snatching at every 
shadow of information that promised success. All 
his efforts were vain. He felt that his search was 
hopeless, but he fought desperately against the 
growing conviction that he had indeed lost her. 
He hoped against hope, and resolutely shut his 
eyes to the truth. 

But a day came when he could hope no longer, 
and heartsick and despondent, he retired to his 
quarters on Carondelet Street, and there gave 
himself up to a life of gloomy seclusion. Every 
day he roamed aimlessly about the streets, restless 
and unhappy. 

One bright afternoon, as he was approaching one 
of the hospitals, several Sisters of Charity walked 


173 


out of the entrance and down the steps. As 
Captain Nixon came nearer, he glanced casually 
at them, and was about to pass when his gaze fell 
upon the faces of the last two Sisters. 

Instantly he paused, unable to speak or move. 
There before him was the face he had sought so 
long and vainly — that waking or sleeping was 
always with him — that he had so yearned to look 
upon — the face of the woman he loved. 

The harshness produced by sorrow and suffering 
had disappeared from her features, and in the simple 
dress of her order, her face was full of sweet, 
attractive loveliness. 

She came nearer — still he could not move. Her 
eyes were cast down ; she did not see him ; in 
another moment she would be past. 

“ Madeleine ! ” he gasped. 

She turned with a startled look and their eyes 
met. The recognition was instant. She grew deadly 
pale, and he who knew her face so well, read in it 
a .short, sharp struggle. But almost at once she 
regained her self-control, and walked on with her 
companions. 

Nixon stood rooted to the spot by the shock of 
the meeting. He had found her at last only to 


74 


know she was irrevocably lost to him — more than 
lost to him, for the knowledge that she was living,, 
and he could not see her, seemed to him worse 
than if she were dead. 

Before this discovery, he had, at least, the memory 
of their mutual love to cherish; now he mnst give 
up even that; in the sacred and self-denying life of 
the Sister of Charity there was no room for the 
things of earth. Gradually he learned to submit to 
the inevitable, but every day he walked by the 
hospital, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He felt 
that he no longer had a right to the memento she 
had given him in the days of their love, and so 
sought to return it, but the priest to wdiom he 
referred the matter, reported that Mrs. Lecour, or 
rather Sister Valencia, preferred that he should keep 
it in his possession. How devotedly he cherished it 
no one can say. 

His figure soon became a familiar one on the 
street. 

He took his 'v^lk by the hospital unfailingly. 
He spoke to neither man nor woman, but occasion- 
ally he stopped to pat a child on the head or to 
say a few words to the little ones. Notwithstanding 
his age, he seemed an old man. His hair had 


75 


become gra3^ his step was uncertain, and every 
w’eek seemed to add a month of age upon his 
shoulders, which already drooped. 

No one could have recognized in the prematurely 
aged man, with no apparent object or interest in 
life, the brave soldier, the hearty comrade, the 
ardent lover, of a few short years before. All that 
was over now, and with it his hopes, his ambitions, 
and the sweetness of life. 

Several years after — about 1873 — papers 
chronicled the death of Sister Valencia, and in 
doing so, gave a short sketch of her life. This 
paper fell into Captain Nixon’s hands. He saw 
that Mrs. Lecour had not left the world for an 
existence of charity and devotion to the unfortunate, 
until two 3"ears after the time appointed for their 
meeting in New Orleans. She had waited for him, 
then, and this added doubly to his grief. She must 
have thought him dead — he would not for a moment 
think that she could have believed him false. And 
so sadly ended the romance be in the inaus- 
picious depths of the Dismal Swamp. 

On the day of the dead sister’s burial, an old man 
left a beautiful design of flowers at the hospital 
door to be placed over the grave. 


176 


He gave no name. 

But more than one asked what led the ‘‘ old 
hermit” — for by that name was Nixon known — to 
do such a thing. None knew the story of his life, 
but it was supposed that the dead sister had been 
kind to him in some sickness, and that he had sent 
this token as an expression of his gratitude. 

Two years passed. 

For a week the hermit had been missed, and the 
policeman who daily passed his quarters, became 
anxious as the days went by, and he did not 
appear. The lonely man who seldom spoke and 
never smiled, had still inspired an interest in all 
around him in spite of his reserve, and so when the 
officer knocked at his door to ask if he were ill, 
and received no answer, he forced the door at once, 
fearing the worst. 

There before his eyes lay the body of the old 
man. 

He had evidently been dead several days. He 
had died as he had lived, alone, and with him 
died the secret of his fate and of the trust he had 
faithfully guarded to his last breath. 

The coroner was notified and a jury of inquest 
summoned. They went to the room and found 


177 


the body lying on the floor, as if it had fallen from 
a chair near by, thus indicating that the end was 
sudden. 

But the most surprising thing in the meagerly 
furnished apartment was a strongly made and 
peculiarly constructed coffin, near the outstretched 
body. 

On being examined, the lid proved to be self- 
fastening, so that a person could have placed himself 
in the casket, pulled the cover down and forever 
remained safe from intrusion. 

This strange coffin had evidently been made for 
a purpose. It was carefully examined to discover, 
if possible, the clue to its mysterious presence in 
the old hermit’s room. 

“ What is this ? ” suddenly cried one of the 
j urymen. 

At the head of the lid was a gold eagle’s claw. 
In its clutches it held a diamond of wonderful 
brilliancy. It was fully as large as that known 
as the “Duke of Brunswick,” and of such clearness 
that its value amounted to thousands and thousands 
of dollars. When breathed upon, it turned a 
beautiful blue. Its purity was without a flaw, 
and its lustre was marvelous. 


178 


How* came it in his possession ? 

The question was asked and theories were offered, 
but no satisfactory explanation was forthcoming. 

A verdict of death from natural causes was 
rendered. But the great point of interest was the 
jewel. 

It caused endless comment, and the publication of 
the incident attracted widespread attention. 

The discovery was made of a seal hanging by a 
thread string to the jewel, and by that it was 
traced to Mrs. Tecour ( then dead ) and thence to 
Victor Lecour. It was further found that Victor 
Tecour’s ancestors had fled from France at the 
beginning of the present Century. Then, in addi- 
tion to these facts, the information came that a 
similar jewel had been stolen from the crown of 
France during the great French Revolution of 1789. 
The description of the two diamonds went far to 
prove that they were one and the same. 

But it was all speculation, and the diamond 
remained, and still remains, a mystery. 

As may be imagined, the New Orleans papers 
were full of the subject, and every effort was made 
to solve a mystery which had created so much dis- 
cussion. Generally the gem was thought to be the 


179 


stolen French jewel. But there was no positive 
evidence to prove it such. Of course, it is con- 
nected with an interesting incident herein related,^ 
but as for the jewel itself, it has ever been what 
it was then — a myster3^ 

This , fragment of a romance is one of the expe- 
riences of war. It does not undertake to tell the 
story in all the completeness that is usual to fiction 
writers unfettered by facts. It is simply a record 
of an unpleasant journey through a dismal region. 
The affection of Nixon and Mrs. Lecour was an 
interesting episode of our expedition, and it is 
chronicled here as it occurred, with no attempt to 
stretch the facts and make an incident end in hap- 
piness, when in reality, it ended in so much sorrow. 

It is not the writer’s fault, gentle reader, that this 
story does not end happil3^ War is tragic ; some 
of its incidents are fragmentary, and its events do 
not move as smoothly as you might desire. So you 
must accept this as an episode of an unique expe- 
dition, and fill in any discrepancies at your own 
pleasure. 

Perhaps it was you who lost that diamond. If 
so, you should prove the property and get the jewel,. 


i8o 

for fine diamonds in this world are almost as rare 
as fine stories, and I’m afraid that their value is 
vastly more appreciated. 


The End. 


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